Is it a crime?
by Dameintoyland
Summary: Private Detective Ron Weasley finds himself embroiled in a dangerous game of lies, love and intrigue when a mysterious brunette shows up on his door steps one late stormy night. Hardboiled detective/noir style crime thriller set in a non-magical AU (think Dick Tracy but set in the 2000s) with crime bosses, a down on his luck detective Ron and a not quite femme fatale Hermione.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm just going to give some trigger warnings up front: depictions of character death (not graphic), depression, depiction of suicide (not graphic) and suicidal thoughts, and alcohol abuse.**

He approached the body sprawled out on the floor in front of him. The bullet wound in her back was still so fresh that he swore there was smoke coming off of her. She lay face down with her arms pointing in different directions and her legs splayed. Probably because she was running away from the shooter when she met her end. Her dark hair fell in curls wildly spread out around her face.

He paced back and forth in front of the body, slowly rubbing his right hand through his hair while his left hand gently massaged his neck trying to relieve the tension that was building up.

He noticed how her soft, shapely body clashed against the hard, industrial surroundings. The building had been abandoned for quite some time, partially reclaimed by Mother Nature from the looks of it. The outside walls were half missing, others severely rusted did nothing to stop the chill from the cold night air from entering. The concrete floor had pools of murky water from the last rain, which had been days ago. Graffiti covered nearly every surface; apparently this was one of those abandoned buildings that budding young street arts used to try out their craft. He even noticed scuffs on the ground that most likely indicated repeated abuse from the grinding of skateboards.

He drew his eyes back to her body. As much as he tried to avoid looking at her, he knew he couldn't resist. _Why had this happened?_ , he thought to himself with regret. They could have avoided this. They could have been together. All she had to do was come to him and tell him the truth before everything skyrocketed out of control. Instead she had remained secretive and headstrong. He could curse her for allowing her stubbornness to get him entangled in this mess, but then again weren't some of those same traits also the things he loved about her. His mind began to swirl with memories. As the memory of meeting her came to mind, he remembered that even back then he had known she was going to get him into trouble.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't register the car coming near the building despite the sound of the tires moving over the gravel road leading up to it. Luckily, even the fond memories couldn't prevent him from noticing the headlights shining through the many openings in the building's dilapidated walls. Coming back to reality he dove behind a nearby bulkhead, hoping that no one had seen him. He held his breath as the car neared, eventually coming to a stop in front of what should have been the door. His breath hitched as he heard the distinct sounds of feet stepping onto gravel and a car door slamming. The driver had not turned out the car headlights. _Clearly not worried they may need to get the drop on someone_ , he assumed. As the steps crunched around the building, he realized that this person was examining the perimeter before coming inside. _So they are taking some precautions_. Luckily the bulkhead he hid behind shielded both himself and the dead woman's body from outside view.

He had to try and find a way to get out before the person found both occupants. He got up from his seated position, but made sure to remain crouched enough to stay hidden. That's when he saw the light from what could have only been a flashlight. Given that it was growing brighter, he knew the mystery person was now inside. He thought through his next few actions quickly. He picked up a piece of wood that was laying on the ground and grasped it in his hand firmly. _Just enough to cause damage, but not to kill_ , he thought. But almost as quickly as the thought passed through him, he gently set the wood back on the floor. There could be no guarantees he wouldn't do too much damage, and he didn't want a body on his hands, or another one on his conscience. Despite how far he had fallen, he still had limits.

He would try to be the one to get the jump on this stranger. Hopefully he could knock the person out with just his hands and then finish cleaning up the scene around the body. He silently cursed himself for getting so distracted that he hadn't acted quicker to tie things up and get out of this forsaken place. Breathing in deeply to work up his courage, he moved as quietly as possible to the side of the bulkhead, while trying to remain crouched as the stranger approached. When the light suddenly stopped moving, he knew the person had seen the body.

"Bloody hell," he heard the person swear under his breath. Acting quickly, he knew he needed to use this moment of distraction to get the advantage. He rounded quickly around the rest of the bulkhead, and ran up on the stranger, a shorter male he gathered from his silhouette. He tackled the man to the ground and the two began to wrestle for control. The other man was no match for his size, so he easily kept him on the ground. Straddling the struggling man he tried to prevent him from turning over, steeling himself to deliver a punch that would knock this unsuspecting person out. Suddenly his opponent had a surge of strength and was able to knock him off and turn over. Winded, he scrambled up to resume his assault but he froze when he looked into the angry face of the other man. He jumped back instantly realizing his mistake. The other man registered recognition of his assailant and turned to his side, wheezing now that he was free.

He stood there for a second still frozen, mouth agape at the man on the ground. Before he could think of something more eloquent, he spouted out the first thing that came to him, "Bloody hell Harry! What are you doing here?"

The man gave him an accusing look. "Checking on my mate," Harry shot back. Then gathering himself, Harry stood up, stepped to the side, and pointed his arm behind him at the woman on the ground.

"I got a frantic message from you going on about how she was headed here and you thought _she_ was in danger," Harry particularly spat the word 'she' at him. "So, maybe now you can tell me why you are here with a fucking dead body lying there, Ron."

Ron opened his mouth to reply back smartly, but he knew at that moment he had no right, not in the situation he had been found in, and he knew Harry knew why. It was because of her.


	2. She knocks on his door

**A/N: This will be mainly from Ron's POV, but I will indicate if and when the POV changes. I was inspired to right this by listening to 'Is it a Crime?' by Sade. I had an idea to recommend a film noir movie along with every chapter posting. Let's start with the famous classic 1948 film "Laura".**

 _Four Months Earlier_

Ron's head was in his hands, his elbows resting on papers scattered on top of his desk. He had really messed things up this time. His first paying client in weeks, and he had to go and insult him. Letting out a small grunt, he sat up and reached for the whiskey glass in front of him. He almost thought better of finishing the rest of the drink, stopping to look at himself in the mirror sitting on the right corner of his desk. His ginger hair was in its typical shaggy state he had gone back to after too many years of buzz cuts while on the force. His eyes looked sunken, the normal blue color dulled by worry, late nights, and booze.

"Fuck," he groaned out loud to no one but himself, shaking his head in embarrassment at himself as he wondered why he decided to keep that mirror. At first, it was meant to be hidden in his desk drawer, only there for him to pull out on occasion so he could make sure his appearance was presentable before clients walked through the door. _Of course, that would mean I have regular clients_ , he sneered internally at his own reflection. Reaching over, he flipped the mirror down so he could no longer examine his own physical flaws and then picked his glass back up. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thought to himself as he threw the drink back and sank deep into his chair.

The sound of hard rain pounding on his window had the effect of both putting him at ease and putting him in a melancholy mood. If he closed his eyes, he could almost drift off to sleep at that sound, but his mind was always too alive buzzing with regrets and recounting all of his faults, a nasty habit he picked up in his youth.

Pouring the remainder of the whiskey bottle into his glass he looked around his office trying to come up with his next steps. The lights in his office were low, giving off more of an amber glow. The office was not big by any means, and that's probably why he could afford the rent. He had just enough space for the basics - his desk, a filing cabinet, and a coat rack. Still he managed to keep the space a mess, or maybe it was a mess exactly because it was so small. Deciding against cleaning up at this hour, he turned over the idea of going home. It was well past closing for him but he usually stayed late at his office. Hell, he usually slept there if he was being honest with himself. He never wanted to spend time at his empty flat.

He regretted not ringing someone to meet up at a pub, but honestly there were few people he could confide in about his troubles. Most of his family and friends still never understood why he quit the police service to do private work, so talking to them usually dissolved into shouting matches. Except Harry. He knew Harry thought his action was foolish but as a measure of being a good best mate he tended to keep those thoughts and opinions to himself. He supposed that the other reason Harry kept his opinions to himself was because he understood the toll the job had taken on him emotionally, especially that last case. _If I had just done things differently, listened when I had the chance, then maybe_ —

At that moment came the sound of a soft knock on the door. He looked at the clock on the wall and wondered who the hell would be at his door at this late hour;it was nearly midnight. He must have been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the person coming. Surely the rest of the building was deserted which should have made the steps of any late night visitor echo down the corridor. Ron himself shouldn't have even been there, but what point was there to go home. _It's not as if someone was waiting for me at home._

The sound of knocking came again, this time more urgently. He fingered the weapon kept under his desk for emergency situations.

"G'away, I'm closed. Can't you read?" he growled.

"I'm sorry, sir," a soft female voice said apologetically followed by silence. Ron thought it was all clear after a minute had passed, but then she spoke again. "I'm sorry but I'm looking for a Mr. Weasley. I ne...I need his private investigator services. I'm willing to pay three times his normal fees."

"Shite," Ron whispered to himself. Despite the fact that he knew it was bloody ridiculous even to consider accepting work from someone calling at this time of night, he really couldn't afford to turn away a potential paying client, especially not one willing to pay extra. He weighed the probability that this late night visitor was potentially a mass murder or at least lying about being a paying client against his need for more money. Realizing he was almost through his savings and the little seed money loaned to him from the bank, he leaned over to press the unlock button on his door without further hesitation.

"Come in," he shouted gruffly hearing the lock unclick. As he pulled his arm back, he knocked over the remainder of his drink onto his lap. "Bloody hell," he swore to himself as he stood, grabbed a rag off of his desk, and began wiping the bottom of his shirt that had absorbed most of the drink.

He heard someone clearing their throat softly. Suddenly remembering he was no longer alone, he froze slightly as he heard his new client speak. "I'm ever so sorry. I can come back at a better time if you need to take care of that."

Ron looked up, a smile forming on his lips, as he readied himself to make a quip about her calling on him at such a late hour in the first place, but the joke froze on his lips as he stared into what he thought were the most intriguing pair of eyes he'd ever seen. They were a beautiful dark brown color. He would swear later that he could see the amber glow from the lights reflected in those eyes from across the room. She let go of the door and the sound of it finally clicking closed brought him back to reality. He followed her gaze back down and saw that in his efforts to clean his shirt, he had pulled the bottom up high enough that a small sliver of his stomach was revealed. Glancing back up quickly to apologize for his appearance, he thought he saw a flustered look cross her face. She averted her eyes slightly now that his attention was back on her, but an unmistakable smile formed on her lips.

"What was that?" Ron asked, forgetting what she had said as the heat began to rise in his cheeks. He was suddenly appreciative of Harry dragging him to all of those ridiculous early morning weekend boot camp workouts, always going on about not letting Ron turn into a potato.

"I said I can come back later, if this is a bad time..." her voice trailed off as she began to turn towards the door. Her facial expressions betrayed the fact that she probably already knew it was indecent for her to call on a stranger at such a late hour, but hoped he wouldn't turn her away.

"Seeing as you've already interrupted, you might as well stay and tell me what it is you need," he said as cheerfully as he could muster given how tired he felt. He waved a hand towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk in a further invitation to sit down. She continued to stand but when it looked like she was no longer planning to leave he turned his attention back to his shirt. After making a few more worthless attempts to clean it, he threw the rag down on his desk and quickly tucked his shirt back in.

"Thank you. I know it is rude to bother you so late, but I...I saw your light on, and I...I couldn't wait another day," she said as she looked down, her head shaking. He realized then that not just her head was shaking, but her whole body. At first Ron thought she may have been crying, but it was hard to distinguish if it was tears or rain water splashed against her face. Or maybe she was nervous. Even though she called on him, she was in an otherwise empty seedy office strip with a man she did not know other than probably hoping he was the P.I. Weasley listed on the door. He decided that was the likely scenario playing out until he noticed her teeth chattering.

"You're drenched. You must be cold. Let me turn on my heater," he rambled on as he bent down and picked up a small box shape heater and pulled it around to the side of his desk as far as it could reach. "These old buildings usually still have boiler systems, so they can be hard to control—the temperature I mean, hard to control the temperature..."

She merely nodded in appreciation.

"Please sit, Ms?" He asked as he walked back to his chair, gesturing again for her to take the chair opposite him.

"Ms. Granger," she said with a note of relief in her voice. After taking off her jacket she accepted the offered chair gracefully. Draping her jacket over the left arm of the chair, she set her umbrella and briefcase down at her feet. Instantly, her demeanor changed. She was no longer shaking from the wet and cold. Instead she relaxed into the chair, angling herself towards the heater and crossing her legs.

Ron took in the rest of her appearance now that she was more relaxed. He noticed she was wearing a skirt that hugged her body in the most flattering ways. She wasn't tall or overly curvy, but she was still shapely. Her dark brown curly hair was pulled up expertly into a fussy bun, the kind that women said they just threw their hair into, but in reality probably took an hour to achieve that level of beautifully sculpted messiness. Of course, there were a few pieces that seemed to stick out on their own, not agreeing to go along with her plans.

He could tell that she was scrutinizing him as well. Despite her judging gaze, her facial features seemed like they were made to give warm and easy smiles but at this moment they were definitely giving him a more ambiguous feeling. She was definitely pretty, not a supermodel but most people aren't. In the end, it was those eyes that nearly dragged him in again. They were intense, deep, and understanding but also judgmental, appraising and very intelligent. I _'m going to have to impress_ , he thought to himself with a smirk that he tried to wipe off his face as quickly as it appeared. It was too late.

"Do you make it a habit of smirking at customers in distress?" She asked in a serious tone, but her eyes gave away that she was testing him. She was trying to catch him off guard.

"Do you have a habit of demanding entrance to closed businesses near midnight?" He gave right back to her. He wasn't sure what she was playing at, but one thing he was sure of was that he couldn't let a woman like this see him sweat.

She gave a rueful smile, acknowledging his point. "Not usually, but maybe I should start doing it a little more often. Seems one can run into the most interesting things at night," Her voice was calm but tinged every so slightly with desire towards the end of her statement. That confirmed for Ron that he had not been wrong in assuming she had seen more than he intended earlier. _At least she seems to have liked what she saw,_ he congratulated himself but made sure not to smirk this time.

Instead he huffed slightly in response. After another heavy moment of silence, he cleared his throat.

"S'not often or ever really that I get business callers at midnight. You'll have to excuse the mess," he waved his right hand that was again clutching his whiskey glass at his desk. He wasn't sure when that happened, but he still brought the glass up to his lips to finish drinking what he managed not to spill earlier. Normally he wouldn't let a client see him drink, but this situation was out the ordinary and he decided to throw just a little bit of caution to the wind.

She seemed unfazed by the drink, instead choosing that moment to look around his office seemingly taking in the state of his affairs for the first time. For the briefest second, Ron thought he saw a worried look pass over her face. Maybe she was second guessing coming here, choosing him for whatever it was she needed help with. Not that he knew what that was yet. She certainly was taking her sweet time getting to her story. She continued to slowly look over the office and then at Ron. She studied him silently again. The look of worry disappeared, now replaced by some sort of mild satisfaction. Something was to her liking.

Still the silence was dragging on. Ron suddenly began to find himself anxious to be rid of this late night visitor so he could go back to drowning his woes in the second bottle of whiskey he had hidden in his lower desk drawer.

"Look if you just tell me what bus—"

"I must admit you are not what I expected—" she started at the same time, although she seemed to clam up as if realising she said the wrong thing.

"How exactly is it you came to expect something about me?" She won, his interest peaked. He had just assumed that he was some last minute find in the classifieds when she was looking for a private investigator in a rush. Besides he wasn't famous, so what could she know of him.

"I just...let's just say I know someone who knows you from your detective days. You come highly recommended, " she smiled evasively.

Ron studied her for a moment. Obviously he wanted to know who this source was, especially if this was going to turn out to be some weird vendetta or double cross, but there was likely no harm with playing along for the time being. After all he wasn't the one with a hidden weapon pointed at him. He made a mental note to himself to take his pistol with him on his way home just in case. After her words, he suddenly felt on guard, knowing someone was thinking of his police days whether it was for good or bad reasons.

He decided to at least try and put her in the hot seat and chose not to reply to her right away. Instead he simply tilted his head to the side slightly and raised an eyebrow in response, signaling that he was waiting for her to continue.

"Well, I mean—I just wasn't expecting a decorated inspector from the London Metropolitan Police Service to wind up working out of such a small office in some seedy back alley location," she said bluntly.

"Maybe the whole point is I don't want to be found," the ghost of Ron's former smile died on his lips as he brought his drink back up for another sip. "At least not by some types."

She visibly squirmed in embarrassment as she realized the bluntness of her words. _Serves her right,_ Ron thought even though his intent was not to make her feel guilty. He was answering her honestly when he said he didn't want to be found. Harry had voiced similar concerns, one of the few he actually did, early on after he first opened up his practice. _'With your background you could have high-paying celebrity clients instead of an office down a back alley. Why the hell do you insist on punishing yourself for one mistake that wasn't even your fault, I needn't remind you, by working here,'_ Harry had ranted at him while standing behind that exact chair in which his new client was now seated. He had been saddened then by not only the location and state of Ron's office but also the apparently deteriorating physical and mental state of his best mate. _'One mistake, my fault or not, was enough to cost an innocent life,'_ had been Ron's only retort. Harry had been able to read the signs of self-doubt and likely depression in his friend's voice and decided not to press him. That had been three years ago and Harry had mostly dropped the subject, although ever the saviour that he was he would still drop occasional hints about a lead on clients for Ron.

Ron shook his head slightly to clear this train of thought. _God, I don't need this shit at midnight,_ he refocused on the task of getting rid of this mysterious and oddly meddlesome stranger sitting across from him as quickly as possible. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Please tell me about your case." He smiled earnestly as he could muster and gestured for her to continue.

"Yes, my...my case," she continued to be slightly flustered but she quickly recovered. "It's...someone...I'm convinced someone is trying to kill me."


	3. Yellow Carnations and Black Roses

_**A/N: Thank you to ObessedRHshipper for beta reading this one for me so I could fix some mistakes. This chapter was meant to be a part of chapter 1, but I was struggling with a particular part so I decided to break it up. I didn't mean to leave the last chapter with a cliffhanger. I really appreciated the reviews, favorites and follows I received!**_

 _ **For another film noir recommendation try the 1998 film "Dark City". It's more of a science fiction mystery thriller.**_

"I said I believe someone is trying to kill me," she said again as Ron perplexed expression caused her to repeat her statement.

"Stop right there," Ron held up his both hands before she could go on. "I hate to tell you this, as I will really hate to lose any business, as I'm sure you can tell from the state of my office, but this sounds like a matter for the police service if you have evide—"

"Now it's my turn to interrupt you," she cut him off. "That is exactly the problem, I don't have any solid evidence. Strange things have been happening to me for the past few months. At first they seemed innocent enough, some even coincidental, but more and more, the incidents have become menacing. I can't be sure, but I think it has something to do with my work."

"And what exactly do you do?"

"I'm a solicitor," she quickly responded and sat stoned faced as if she was preparing for him to tell her all of his favourite 'solicitors are evil' jokes.

"Hm, not a profession high on the popularity list but usually not deadly," was all that Ron said.

"I'm a divorce solicitor," she added dryly.

"Oh," Ron raised his eyebrows to signify his comprehension of why she thought her supposed troubles might have something to do with her profession.

"For a large firm that works with very wealthy clients, or I should say the spouses of very wealthy clients."

"Ohhhhh," Ron sat up a little straighter. He was starting to see more probability that someone might wish her dead.

"Exactly," She smiled meekly.

"Again, I must ask why you don't just go straight to the police service? They can give you protection."

"Assuming they believe me. Look, to be honest, I've already tried to talk to the police. They performed some pathetic excuse of an investigation and told me there was nothing more they could do until something else happened. Practically told me I was being paranoid. The inspector they put on my case spent more time hitting on me then he did looking into my claims," she scowled incredulously.

Ron clenched his jaw and chewed the insides of his cheeks as he listened to her story. He wished he could say that he was surprised by that behaviour but some on

the force were still as backwards as the old days. "You can file a complaint. I know a trustworthy bloke in the Complaints Commision; he can get it reopened and reassigned."

"Thank you, but I've decided to take matters into my own hands," she smiled appreciatively at his indignation on her behalf." Sitting forward in her chair, she reached for an empty glass that was sitting on the corner of his desk.

"Do you mind?" She asked as she picked up the glass.

Ron smirked and nodded his head slightly in assent as he reached into his lower drawer to pull out a new bottle of whiskey and offered it to her.

She took the bottle and stared at it for a minute. She was hesitating, but about what Ron couldn't tell. Then he saw her slowly close her eyes, and nodding to herself, she opened her eyes again and then almost imperceptibly blew out a calming breath. The whole scene only occurred over the span of a few brief seconds but Ron would have been a horrible detective to not pick up on every last movement.

Apparently having steeled her nerves, she poured her drink, her mannerisms slipping back into the calm pretense she'd been putting on since she walked in his office. Although he suspected her calm demeanor was an act, she definitely wasn't fragile; this was no damsel in distress.

"Erm erm," she cleared her throat after taking a sip of the drink without flinching or squirming, which meant she knew how to handle her liquor. Her eyes flickered up to the analog clock on his wall. "I keep forgetting it's after midnight; let me speed my story along," she said apologetically and Ron noticed her cheeks redden as she blushed in embarrassment.

"No, please take all the time you need," he gave her a sincere smile although it didn't quite reach his eyes given how tired he was. A small part of him that could feel the weight of his fatigue hoped she didn't take him at his word at that offer.

"Thank you," she eyed him appreciatively, apparently recognizing his customary offer as just that. "It started about six weeks ago. Innocently enough it was what most girls dream of with flowers at my office, but there was never a note attached. It was always completely anonymous. My colleagues were either convinced I was carrying on an illicit affair with a client or that I had a secret admirer," she finished flatly with a grimace.

"I take it you don't fancy ill-advised love affairs or secret admirers?"

"Definitely no love affairs," she huffed amusedly. "As for secret admirers, I'm not against a romantic gesture, but usually I draw the line at an admirer sending me flowers representing death and rejection."

"Most solicitors aren't usually floral experts so no one but me seemed to catch on initially about the yellow carnations symbolising rejection," she continued barely taking a breath in between her words. "It's when the black roses started to arrive that the rest of my colleagues realized this was no laughing matter."

"The police—" he started.

"Said my admirer was probably just colorblind or swindled by an inept florist," she countered before he could finish. "Told me to hire a bodyguard if I thought it necessary," she stopped to gauge his reaction and seemed satisfied with his scowl. "To be honest, I was a bit eager myself to be shot of the insufferable git they assigned to my case."

"Who was he?"

"Can't remember his name at the moment. I think I've blocked it to spare myself," she chuckled at her attempt at humour.

Ron couldn't seem to help himself as he smiled back.

She bent over to reach into her briefcase at her feet. Rummaging around for a moment, she finally pulled out a card-shaped envelope. "After the police investigation," she rolled her eyes sarcastically, "things were quiet for a week or two and then yesterday I received this...and...well, this is what made me decide to take matters into my own hands."

She tossed Ron the envelope and nodded at it indicating that he should open it. He reached to pick it from the desk where it had fallen, but stopped himself halfway when he remembered his training. Opening up his desk drawers, he searched through them looking for his box of gloves. Almost giving up, he looked up and saw the box sitting on a stack of books under his windowsill. Swearing at himself under his breath, he got up to retrieve the box, making it in a few long strides. "Can never be too careful. 'Constant vigilance' is what my old Chief Inspector used to say," he said to his guest with his back turned. Pulling out two gloves, he walked back to his desk, and after putting them on, he sat back down and picked up the envelope.

He noticed right away there was no writing on it, front or back. It was slightly heavier than what he would have expected of a typical card. Opening it slowly as not to spill any contents, he saw the spine of a card that was stretched to hold something else. Pulling it slowly out, he glanced up at his guest and saw an anxious look cross her face. Her brows furrowed slightly and her bottom lip tucked under her top teeth. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. Turning his attention back to the card, he flipped it over and opened it to reveal pictures. Ron picked up the stack of pictures, placing the card on the table. Rifling through the photos he immediately knew what had this seemingly self-assured woman rattled. They were pictures of her. Pictures of her leaving a flat, her flat he presumed. Pictures of her eating at a cafe with friends, working at her office, and sitting with a cat curled up on a sofa, again what he figured was her sofa. The last few pictures showed her walking with, talking to, and kissing a well-dressed man who looked to be a similar age to Ron. His eyes lingered on this last group of photos for a moment. His brain was slightly foggy, but he wasn't sure why.

"That is my ex," she blushed, apparently she noticed the attention he was paying to those particular photos.

"Oh...I...uh...yes, I was just wondering if he might be a good person for me to talk to," he recovered quickly, though not without an embarrassing display of stammering. _Fucking_ _smooth Weasley_ , he silently swore at himself.

"Well, you'd have to find him first," her words cut through his inner admonishments.

"Is he a missing person?"

"No, he's just your typical spoiled rich brat. Probably off somewhere yachting with some irresponsible member of the royals."

"Not one of my better decisions," she added meekly.

"These photos of you and him," he gestured to the pictures spread about his desk. "How old are they?"

"They would have to be several months old. We only started seeing each other in February and we broke up over two months ago."

"Hmm," Ron considered this information. He figured that based on the flowering garden beds in one of the parks they were walking through in the pictures it was definitely taken in the spring. "And the other pictures?"

"Some of them, I believe, are from this past winter, but…," she paused as she stood up to lean over the pile on his desk searching through the pictures, when she found what she wanted. She picked up the picture of herself eating at a cafe with several friends. She looked quite happy in that picture, her head bent back and a laugh frozen on her face. Her facial features were definitely as warm and inviting as Ron had expected given the right circumstances. "This one was taken last fall...in...October I think. My friend to the right of me, Andy, she'd dyed her hair green for Halloween," she said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"It's what she does, don't ask," she added as she sat back down after noticing his questioning look.

"Right...well, it's certainly helpful for this investigation," Ron smirked as he surveyed the pictures in front of him. Glancing over the pictures to fully take in what he was seeing his eyes stopped at something he nearly missed. The card itself. While the back had been plain white, the front was blood red with a black heart in the center. He picked it up again and opened it. His eyes widened at the message written inside in what looked to be a thick red substance: **True Love Never Dies, But You Can**

"So…" she was biting her bottom lip again, as she looked at him anxiously, breaking his gaze away from the threatening message.

"So…" he mimicked.

"Do all these questions mean you are taking my case?" She asked, her eyes locked on his. Ron was again mesmerized by the gold flecks that seemed to reflect light in her eyes.

"Have you seen the state of my office?" he quipped rhetorically, breaking her away from her gaze and covering much more smoothly this time from his dazed moment. "Was there really a doubt of me accepting three times my normal rate?" he added with a smile.

"You're right, probably not," she laughed along with his joke. They locked eyes again and once more looked into each other's eyes for longer than what was normally considered polite.

She seemed to collect her wits first. Turning to look at the clock, she made the slightest squeak realizing the time. She set down the empty glass that she appeared to have forgotten she was holding this whole time.

"It's well past the witching hour for me. I should be going," she said in a rush as she gathered up her coat and bag in her left arm. Unexpectedly she reached across the desk with her right to shake Ron's hand. Recovering himself once more, he stood up quickly and firmly accepted and shook her hand.

"Let me walk you to the door," he stumbled over piles of paper on the floor sending them flying as he made his way around his desk. Easily reaching the door first given his ability to take long quick strides because of his height, he pulled the door open and out of habit peered out into the corridor to ensure there was no one there. Turning back to her, he realized that she still hadn't put her coat on despite the sound of rain still drizzling outside his window. Stepping in front of the door with his right leg to keep it propped open, he extended both hands and taking the jacket off her arm he held it open for her to slide into, "Here let me help you with this."

She slipped into the jacket gracefully, her arms brushing each one of his hands and sending goosebumps down both his forearms. She dipped her head in thanks and turned back around to face him.

"Vinegar," she said suddenly, looking up with an expression that said she just remembered something.

"M'sorry, what?" He looked at her puzzled.

"Vinegar...white vinegar...will help get that stain out," she pointed at the large but now dry transparent brown stain on his shirt from the earlier whiskey spill.

"Oh...uh, thank you. I'll try that," scratching the back of his head he gave her small appreciative smile.

"Thank you again, for seeing me at such an unusual hour. You're much more than I expected," she said, her eyes shining like before although there was something he couldn't read in them. She proceeded to walk past him through the door. He watched her retreating form for a few seconds before closing the door. He could still hear the sound of her heels on the tile of the corridor for another minute. Turning back to his desk, he wondered what she had meant by saying he was not what she expected. _I really need to find out about this source. I may need to thank them, or murder them depending how good this job goes_ , he smiled to himself.

Ron made a mental note about needing to clean his office after he stubbed his toe on a box as he walked back to his desk. He started to pick up those papers he tripped over on the way to the door, when he had a sudden realization. "Shite!" He cursed out loud, upon realizing that he forgot to discuss actual payments or next steps. She had been in such a rush to leave. _Well she certainly knows where to find me,_ he thought as he picked up one of the pictures she left of her invaded privacy and studied the profile of her face. He found it quite beautiful.

That's when he saw the small rectangular card sitting on the edge of his desk. He wasn't sure when she left it. She was definitely as clever as he suspected. Reaching over he picked up the card and ran his fingers over the slightly raised letters of her name on her business card. _Hermione Granger_ , he read it to himself silently. _What a lovely name._


	4. Ripples

_**A/N: Thank you to ObessedRHshipper for beta reading this one for me so I could fix some mistakes. The chapters will probably be longer from here on out. If you're wondering this story will be somewhere around 20~25 chapters. This chapter is pretty dialogue heavy, at least for me, so I hope you enjoy.**_

 _ **Film recommendation: Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988). It's one of my all time favorites.**_

 _ **'I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way,'- Jessica Rabbit.**_

Walking down one of the most carefully manicured pavements he'd ever seen, Ron was pretty sure he was out of his element. Of course, he'd had wealthier clients before, but they usually came to him to provide back alley type services. The type people want done inconspicuously, with as little fanfare and judgement as possible. They certainly never summoned him to their homes.

He had judged wrong from the pictures during that initial late night encounter. This wasn't a flat he was headed to, it was a house, and probably a grand one based on the location in Hampstead.

Rain was pounding the hood of his jacket as he trudged along on what was turning out to be another grey day in London. Using his other hand, he readjusted the work bag slung over his shoulder to try and find a more comfortable position.

He had done a bit of quick research into his new client the morning after her visit. He had been suspicious of the fact that she arrived on his doorstep so late. _How would she know I was still there?_ He had turned that question over in his mind all night leading to a fitful sleep. A few easy searches had identified that there was indeed a Hermione Granger and she worked at a well known law firm. He was even able to find her picture on the firm's website. The slightly harder part was confirming the truth of her story. Luckily he was able to call in a favour with an old colleague who was willing to verify that Hermione had made a report to the police several weeks ago. The odd part was that details of her file were confidential and above this particular contact's pay grade. He thought that strange for a case that was ultimately dismissed. He wasn't going to give up looking at that file; the fact that it was confidential made it even more interesting, but getting to it would mean calling in some bigger favours with people less willing to bend the rules, but that would come later.

Ron had to admit that the advent of the internet had made his job easy compared to what the P.I.s of old had to drudge through in the past. He still couldn't believe half the information he was able to find about people on some of those internet sites and the fact that people put it out there willingly. Though to her credit the information about Hermione online was rather superficial.

Ron himself had managed to keep his information offline altogether, with the exception of some pictures that his friends and family posted of him. Then there was the most devious of his two trickster older brothers. Leave it to him to sign Ron up for one of those ridiculous dating sites. Ron smiled to himself wistfully, as he remembered some of the batty birds who had replied to that profile. There were a few decent replies, but Ron just wasn't interested.

At first he had been livid. He vividly recalled his brother recounting his action with glee during Christmas dinner. He had vowed then to bury his brother somewhere no one could find him if he didn't stop talking. That hadn't gone over too well with his mum who had boxed his ears in response. Once his mum's attention turned to someone else, Ron stared into his brother's eyes with his mouth fixed in a grim line. He slowly raised his right index finger to his neck and drug it slowly across, silently communicating again his threat of retaliation. He recalled the mischievous half grin his older brother had returned with a glint of a dare in his eye.

That had been the last Christmas he saw his brother alive. Ron kicked a tiny stone on the side of the pavement as a sense of sorrow began to enter his chest. It had been almost two years and he still felt the loss of his brother Fred deeply. He knew that despite the jokes and the ridicule his brother had been worried he was lonely. Ron had thought it fitting that he honor him by keeping the profile up even after all this time, though he never checked it anymore.

Ron stopped at a crossing when he realised that he had been so lost in his thoughts he had gone a block too far. Just at that moment, a car, ignoring stop signs, roared by sending a tidal wave of dirty rain water into the air. Ron jumped back as quick as his reflexes would allow but the damage was done. The lower half of his clothes could not escape the splash of grimy water from the street gutters.

Ron held his arms out an exaggerated distant from the rest of his body and swore out loud at the retreating car. Annoyed by his current misfortune he turned around begrudgingly and retraced his steps this time paying attention to the numbers on the houses as he walked by. It was just as she had described, an older grey brick terrace house, with a bay window on the ground floor and a lavender-painted door. It probably had all sorts of historic charm in sunnier conditions, but at this moment it looked haunted by the gloominess of the storm clouds.

Walking up to the door, he raised his had to knock when the door flew open suddenly.

"Oh, I saw you walk by the first time," Hermione called out to him without prompting. "Leave your shoes and jacket by the door please." Ron noticed she held a mobile in one hand near her face and she was covering the speaker with her other. Holding a finger up to him to signal she would just be a minute, she lifted the phone back up to her ear.

"Sorry for the interruption Mrs. Fleming, I have a business associate that just stopped by for an appointment so I'm afraid I will have to call you back…," her voice trailed off as she walked to the back of her house and into another room. Ron took off his jacket and hung it on the coat stand next to the entryway. Next he moved to take off his shoes when a sudden streak of orange ran across his feet. Ron flinched, jumping back slightly as he looked down to his left and immediately felt like an idiot as he stared into the eyes of a rusty-coloured cat.

"Mangy beast," he mumbled under his breath and finished taking off his shoes.

"Did you say something?" she called as she returned to the room.

"No, nothing important," he replied swiftly and turned to close the door after a chill from the rain reminded him that it was still open.

Hermione made a small skeptical noise, but did not press him any further. She moved over to her cat and picked up the shaggy feline, nuzzling her nose in the top of its furry head. Ron could hear the cat purring in delight. She was wearing loose-fitting dark blue trousers and a cream, lightweight blouse. Everything looked as if it was tailored to drape her figure perfectly. Her hair was loose this time falling just passed her collarbone. Peeking from underneath her hair was a very delicate gold necklace with a small pendant hanging from the chain. Ron couldn't quite make it out from his current position but it looked like an animal of some sort.

"Sorry about that," she tipped her head back towards the room she had disappeared into earlier. "Rich clients don't believe in the concept of business hours—" she started but then stopped abruptly and looked at him with a bemused smile on her face before letting out a bark of laughter. Ron felt a pleasant pull at his navel.

"Sorry...I...that must sound pretty rich indeed coming from me after our first introduction," she added, finally clueing him in on the joke.

"Yeah I might know something about that," he smiled at her. She returned his smile graciously.

"I imagine you do," she had stopped laughing but the resulting smile had left her face glowing. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. I'm afraid I wouldn't have time to make it to your office for another day, but I'm anxious to get this case started."

Ron merely nodded along. When he had called her the afternoon after their first encounter to set up the next meeting, he hadn't been surprised when she said she was too busy to make it to his office during normal work time for the next few days. He offered to meet her at her office but she was working from home for the next several days.

Her occupation made an easy cover for his job. He could easily fit in as an investigator hired by her law firm to look into the spouse of one of her clients. _Hell, maybe I can turn that lie into a real thing if she is pleased with the work I do for her,_ he had mused to himself earlier.

He had driven to the area to transport back the boxes of evidence she had for him to review, but he had to park several blocks away due to congestion on her street. Naturally, that was right before it started pouring rain.

"I have the boxes over here," she had walked over to a small, round and wooden table nestled between her kitchen and living room. On top of the table were three boxes that appeared to be filled to the brim. He started to move over to where she was standing when he remembered that he was still soaking wet from his long walk in the rain and his encounter with the rude driver earlier.

"Do you have something I can dry off with," he said gesturing to his soaked trousers. "It'd be a shame to track water all over your floors." Ron assumed from the tidy nature of at least what he could see that she would probably hate that as well. She turned her head back towards him and seemed to fully take in his appearance for the first time.

"Oh dear, how did I not notice," she bent down slightly to let her cat gracefully jump to the floor.

"Wait there for one more minute," she called to him as she rushed around the corner to her steps and quickly bounded up them. Ron stood still, trying to keep the water dripping off of him centered on the entryway mat directly below his feet. The newly released cat seemed to be staring daggers at him, well aware that he was the reason his owner had set him down.

"Sorry about that mate," Ron said trying to break the tension with the animal. He wasn't really a cat person, but didn't fancy being attacked by one right at that minute. The cat arched its back and let out territorial hiss—

"Crookshanks! Be nice to our guest," Hermione had reappeared carrying a towel and some clothes. Ron wondered whose clothes those were. He was a head taller than her. _It must be something left over from an old boyfriend_ , he reasoned to himself.

"Sorry, he's usually not so prickly but...he's just been more protective of me lately," the smile from her face fell momentarily.

Ron shook his head and gave a half grin in response to signal he was not offended by the cat. "No bother," he quickly replied.

"Here, these should help," she handed him the towel and clothes. "My father left these here after house sitting for me a few months back. He's not quite as tall as you so the joggers may be short but it will be better than sitting in wet clothes."

He accepted the clothes from her, his fingers brushing against hers in the process. Similar to their accidental touch that first night, he felt a tingling sensation course through his arm. The sensation startled him and he almost dropped the stack but she placed a steadying hand on top of his own. She withdrew her hand after a moment once it was clear he had the items under control, but the warmth from her hand remained.

"Thank you. I'll just...is there somewhere I can change?" Ron tried to ask calmly without tripping over his words too much.

"Yes, of course," she rushed to answer his question almost a little too eagerly. "You can change in the bathroom down the hall. It's across from the stairs." He nodded his head in understanding and started to walk past her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was chewing her bottom lip rather intensely and clenching her hands nervously at her side. _Did she feel something as well?_ he considered this for a split second but shook his head skeptically.

Once inside the bathroom he set the items she gave him down on a white shag rug covering the middle of the floor. He bent in close to the mirror hanging over the sink to better examine his appearance. He rubbed his hand through his ginger mane trying to fluff it but he continued to look like a drowned rat despite the efforts.

Deciding there was not really a way to make his hair look any better, he dropped his gaze to the rest of his face. Small water droplets ran down his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, probably disturbed from when he ruffled his hair a moment earlier. He turned his gaze down to his clothes and he knew that he was going to have to take her up on the offered clothes. He knew his trousers were soaked but didn't realise the bottom of his dress shirt was also sopping wet. He chuckled to himself as he remembered that this was the second time in two days that she had seen him with a soaked shirt. _She's probably going to start thinking that I'm doing this on purpose,_ he smirked to himself.

He picked up the towel and made quick work of drying his face and hair. Taking his shirt off he ran the towel over his upper body to dry it off better before putting on the clean one. He allowed his mind to wander back to the moment that she had steadied his hand. Her hand felt small and delicate compared to his. There was something about her touch that seemed to linger on his skin. It had been a while since he felt that way about someone's touch. He just wasn't sure what that feeling meant. He had just met this woman and he still didn't know the first thing about her. He needed to be sensible and not get carried away by good looks. Ron shook his head and he finished changing his clothes.

She had been right about the fit. The black joggers were a bit tight at his waist and ended just short of his ankles. The sweatshirt was a better fit but the arms were still a little short and the bottom of it just barely skimmed the waistband on the joggers meaning the wrong move could expose his stomach. He felt like he was transported back to his school days, which were often filled with ill-fitting hand-me-downs.

Walking back out of the bathroom, he saw her sitting at the table, pouring over some documents. A new addition to the table were two cups with steam rising off the tops. Hermione looked up and over at him and smiled. Her eyes lit up with what he could only assume was amusement at the sight of him but she had at least managed to hold in her laughter. Ron could feel his face warm and he knew his ears must be about as red as his hair at that moment.

"I thought you might fancy a cuppa to warm up after your outdoor shower," she said sliding a cup over to the empty chair next to her.

Ron accepted the chair and the cup. He was glad to have something hot to warm his hands. Sitting his wet clothes and used towel on the floor next to him, he rubbed his hands together and pointed towards the file she had been studying. "Is this part of the evidence you've gathered?"

"Yes, as I was saying earlier, these boxes," she waved at the three boxes on the table as she went on eagerly, "contain everything I have including my own notes on who I think may be doing this and what the potential motives may be—" She stopped short and gave a sheepish smile.

"It looks like you've run your own investigation," he smiled back impressed. He had been entranced by her enthusiasm, but he was also becoming worried that she was the type to tell him how to do his job at every step. _Those clients are the worst,_ he thought to himself. They tended to second guess every step he made and every conclusion he reached. He once even had one debate him about whether or not his spouse was truly cheating based on the angles of the photo, which anyone else would have agreed were pictures of her shagging his business partner on their kitchen counter.

"I'll take your notes into account, but I must warn you, that won't stop me from asking questions on things you think you've already covered. I can tell that you're a very smart woman, probably smarter than me," he let out a short laugh, "but I'm assuming you hired me for an objective view."

Her eyes slightly squinted as she paid close attention to him, but her slow and steady nodding along with his words let him know that she was in agreement.

"Now I'm not jumping to conclusions…," he put his hands up as an advanced warning to what he was going to say next. "But more often than not in a stalking case the person is someone intimately familiar with you."

"Like a client or their former spouse," she suggested.

"Maybe," he said with a hesitant look. "It's a definite possibility given your line of work, but by intimate I mean someone familiar with you on a different level, like a coworker, a friend, a former significant other," he swallowed in anticipation of how she would take this next statement, "Or even a family member."

He stopped and waited for her reaction to these last few words. She had been nodding along up until that point. Usually just the hint that family could be implicated was enough for some people to be resistant to cooperate on their own cases. She looked down briefly and then looked back up at him, her eyes giving away that she accepted everything he had just said. Ron let out a small breath he didn't realise he was holding as he could tell from that look that she would be reasonable no matter what he found.

"Yes, I have read the statistics on these kind of cases myself," she finally said. "I highly doubt it would be a family member as other than my mum and dad, most of my relations are rather distant both in lineage and in actual interaction."

Ron nodded his head at this piece of information, looking over towards the door where he had left his bag. He put a hand up to excuse himself for a moment and walked swiftly over to the bag and pulled out a notebook, pen and a tape recorder. Ron plopped back down into his seat and spread out the items he gathered in front of him.

"I need to start taking down some notes," he said to her as he acknowledged her questioning gaze.

"And the tape recorder?" she asked, her eyebrows slightly raised in apprehension.

"If you don't mind, I sometimes find it easier to go back over a recording of interviews just in case I miss something," he added quickly, sure that her solicitor brain was buzzing with all sorts of concerns about being recorded. To be truthful, he usually relied almost solely on the recordings while conducting the interviews, the pen and notebook mostly for show although he did have the occasional insight he would want to write down in the moment for fear he would forget it. This way was better to maintain eye contact and watch the interviewee. Reading body language had come in handy during his time with the Met and now as a private investigator. He could probably make an argument that he was one of the best at it in his unit, because he picked up most of his skill from playing chess. Something he never told the countless opponents he beat was that he never had to use strategy against them; their body language usually gave everything away.

He hadn't actually meant for her to see the recorder. Something about almost being drowned by the rain seemed to have thrown him off slightly, or maybe it was something about her. He certainly wasn't going to mention that most of the time he concealed it so the recordings were without consent. Being recorded tended to make everyone skittish, victims and culprits alike. He expected her to object, so he had to hide his shock when she readily assented to being recorded.

"Just carry on with the conversation as you normally would," he said right before positioning the recorder between them and pressing record.

"Right…," she looked lost for words on where to begin, which did not seem to be something that happened to her frequently.

"Just start with what you have collected," he said in a calming voice he had practiced with many a fragile victim. "You mentioned yesterday other strange things happening before the flowers."

She looked at the boxes on her table and stood up slightly to reach over and grab the one furthest from them. "Here, I listed the contents on top to organize and make it easy to find everything," she slid the box over to Ron. "I guess it's just in my nature as a solicitor to research and index."

"Some of the files have actual items that I suspect were left by the...my—,"

"Stalker. You can call this person your stalker, " Ron helped her as he opened the box and saw several file folders stacked tightly.

"The...stalker left what I now believe were small clues at first," Ron began pulling files out and skimming them over while she continued to speak. Nodding along as she spoke.

"I tried to catalogue everything that I kept. Obviously, before I realised what was happening I had binned some of the items…," she went on. Ron flipped through the files quickly, making note of the fact that the things she captured didn't necessarily seem like menacing messages at first glance, but given what happened more recently he could definitely see why she included them. Vague notes left in her letter box or sent to her office. Random flowers left on her doorstep. Her notes on each file covered the dates and what she was doing around the time the items appeared. He smiled to himself at the level of detail.

"Did you think of something?" she interrupted his thoughts with an expectant look.

"No...no, I was just admiring your work," he replied earnestly. "It seems you truly missed your calling."

"Why is that?"

"You would have made an ace detective yourself," he grinned at her.

"I don't know about that," she returned his smile easily and leaned back in her chair, evidently getting more comfortable in his presence. "I may be smart, Mr. Weasley, but that isn't everything."

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her response. He had a hard time imagining at this point what possible failings she could have. Not wanting to waste too much time going over the boxes, he put the lid back on it and set it down on the floor next to his chair. "I'll review the items in this box more thoroughly when I get back to my office. What do you have in the other two boxes?"

"They have my files on the likely suspects," she said, placing her hand on top of one of the remaining boxes.

"That's good," he nodded. "Still I would like you to make a list of every acquaintance, client, friend, co-worker, or family relation you have had interaction with in the last twelve months."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, everyone, male and female. I know it seems...extreme, but this exercise will help jog your memory," he quickly added to ease the growing look of shock on her face. "You no doubt have included people that you've had recent negative encounters with, but sometimes what you may be forgetting is something that seems meaningless to you but was significant to someone else."

"Yes, I guess that makes sense", she reluctantly agreed. "Would you like to discuss who I already identified in these files?"

"No, I'd like to read them on my own first, and then ask you some questions later."

"Of course," she responded. "Will you need help carrying the boxes? I can call a taxi."

"I drove."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I just assumed by the wet state of your clothes that you may have walked here from the tube station."

"Nah, I just made a poor decision in where to park," he said with a chuckle. She laughed quietly along with him. He licked his lips, which were beginning to dry and crack slightly. He realised then that he was a little parched and picked up the cup of tea she had given him when he first sat down. Despite his neglect, it was still warm. He took a sip absentmindedly and had to choke it down. The tea was strong and he needed something to cut the bitterness. Not wanting to be rude he tried to hide the shock to his taste buds, but apparently he failed.

"Oh! How could I forget to ask if you needed milk or sugar?" she actually looked taken aback at her mistake.

"S'not a problem really," he quickly reassured her. "I can usually drink it plain but I do prefer milk and either a little sugar or—" he broke off quickly, embarrassed for some reason to admit what he had been about to say to such a sophisticated woman.

"Or...what?"

"Seems a bit childish but I like a biscuit to dunk in my tea," he grimaced at his own confession.

"Nonsense," her eyes lit up with amusement. "I've been in rooms with managing directors of some of the largest companies you can think of and they _all_ dunk their biscuits."

"Well now that I know I'm in such good company, do you mind?" he asked jokingly. "About the milk, I mean."

"Certainly, and I even have some biscuits," she gave him a subtle wink.

She rose from her chair and swiftly disappeared into her kitchen. Ron could hear the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing. He tapped his fingers on his knees as he waited. At that moment, the cat decided to jump onto the table and directly on top of the file Hermione had laying open from earlier, and began to clean itself enthusiastically. Ron's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline he raised them so high.

"Nice to make your acquaintance as well," he whispered under his breath to the feline. "I would tell you to bugger off, but then you might attack me."

"Speaking to the cat?" Hermione asked rhetorically after returning from the kitchen, and catching him by surprise. She sat a tray containing biscuits, milk and sugar down near Ron and then swiftly picked up her cat and nuzzled him again. "I hope he isn't

bothering you. He's really a sweetheart once you get to know him."

Ron said nothing but looked at the cat skeptically. He hadn't much interaction with cats except for one girl he dated that had ten. That was an experience he would never forget. He still had nightmares about her siccing them on him when he had finally plucked up the courage to tell her their relationship was going nowhere.

"I think he actually likes you," she added. "Crookshanks is always a little slow to warm up to people, but usually he tries to claw any ma—my guests within a few minutes of being here."

 _I wonder what's stopping him_ , Ron thought as he eyed the cat suspiciously.

"You must seem trustworthy to him," she said as if she had read his mind. "Or you smell like catnip." She gave a wry smile.

"Probably the latter," he remarked as he moved to add a splash of milk to his tea. Given the bitterness he added a dash of sugar to be safe. After picking up a spoon and mixing it all together he took a small sip and nodded his head, indicating that the taste was now to his liking. Without looking up, he reached for a biscuit and froze in surprise as he felt his fingers brush what he could only guess were hers. He looked up swiftly and saw her blush as red as he felt as she retracted her own hand.

"Please," she motioned towards the biscuits and gave an almost shy smile. "Guests first."

He picked up a biscuit, dunked it in his tea, and bit into the newly soggy texture. Hermione mimicked his action. The moment in time seemed to still as they both sat, silently eating their biscuits. Ron felt relaxed sitting in momentary silence with his new client. It was a strange feeling really, as he was usually the type to break silence with a joke or else his nerves would start to fray. Despite the peaceful quiet they were enjoying, Ron knew he needed to get on with his task. He grabbed his notebook and pen.

"Ms. Granger—"

"Please, call me Hermione," she stopped him.

"Of course. Hermione," he gave her a friendly smile after echoing her name. "I just have a few questions to ask before I take my leave."

The smile on her face fell just a little. "Hopefully the rain will be stopped by then."

"Yes, hopefully," he agreed. "Ms. Gr— sorry, Hermione, I have a few questions I want to ask you for my records. Now some of them you may already address in your notes, but sometimes a conversation can help bring out new details." He paused for questions.

"Yes, please, carry on," she replied.

"Have you received any other threats similar to the card you showed me two nights ago?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Luckily nothing new has happened."

"How frequent have the occurrences been?"

"Sometimes more than once a week, but more often than not a few weeks apart," she stared off into nothingness while she responded like she was having to think about her answer. "That's probably why I didn't put everything together sooner," she added with her gaze trained back on Ron. He nodded in understanding.

"Has anything like this ever happened to you before?"

"No...I mean...not that I can remember." Her answer seemed honest and given without hesitation so he moved on.

"Did your ex-boyfriend ever mention to you if he was a victim of stalking?"

She took a second to think about this question. It seems he had thought of something she had not. "That's not something I considered," she finally answered with a tone of surprise. Ron's eyebrows twitched in amusement.

"It's not as common, but sometimes an obsession can transfer from an original victim to a new one, especially if that new one is perceived as a threat between the stalker and their first victim," he explained.

"The pictures from last fall were taken before we were together and I was single at that time...had been for a while at that point," she looked away as she added the last statement. "So would this even matter if he had been stalked?"

"I'm more worried that someone stalked _him_ because of _you_."

"Oh...I...don't...know. As I mentioned before, I haven't spoken to him in months," she answered but not as confident as before. "He never mentioned anything like this when we were together." He jotted the words 'ex-boyfriend', 'victim', and 'unsure' down in his indecipherable shorthand. He noticed Hermione glance at his paper and frown at the fact that she couldn't read what he wrote.

"Have any threats been made against your family or friends?" he shifted gears.

"No, definitely not. Thank god," she responded more enthusiastically to this question with a broad smile.

"That's good to hear," he replied with a reassuring smile, but Ron knew something was off. The smile on her face didn't seem in line with the rest of her body. Her neck and shoulders were stiff, and where she had been relaxed a moment earlier she was now sitting up straight, more formal. Now this could just be a natural response to having to answer questions. Most people stiffened up when put in the hot seat. In his Met days, he found the people who seemed completely relaxed the most suspicious. But there was also the fact that she flinched as soon as the question left his lips that piqued his interest. He scribbled down two more words, 'threats' and 'family' in his notebook almost without looking down. It could be nothing but he would want to follow-up later on the question that made her so uncomfortable.

Hermione took a sip of her tea and tried to readjust herself in her seat while she waited for Ron to ask another question. He took his time. His intention wasn't necessarily to make her sweat but to gather his own thoughts. People think you have to fill up every second of an interview with sound but he often found a well-placed pause gave him time to think on the spot and consider his next move.

Ron remembered that there was one more question he wanted to ask. "Have you noticed any signs of vandalism to any of your property? Anything come up missing recently?

"No, nothing," her answer was quick and certain.

 _Interesting_ , he pondered to himself whether or not someone stalking a person for almost a year would really not have tried to break in or steal something from the victim. That only worried him more that something big could be coming if the stalking continued. Especially given the undeniable threat laced in the last message from the stalker. Naturally, he was merely concerned about the safety of his currently only paying client, no other reason he convinced himself.

He had good contacts on the force that would be willing to help. But knowing Hermione was resistant to going back to the police he hesitated to bring that up. Ron was a P.I. not a bodyguard but he did know a few good ones he would trust with his life and more importantly the lives of his family. Problem is the good ones were outrageously expensive and the amateur ones were always a bit dicey.

"Hermione," he said her name softly. She locked her eyes on his immediately and he could've sworn he heard her breath hitch slightly at the sound of him calling her name. Ron turned off the tape recorder and moved it to the side. "Until we solve this case I think you need to be careful. When I came to your house, there did not appear that you have any surveillance—"

"It's not really needed in this neighborhood—"

"This is not about your neighborhood, it's about you," he put emphasis on the last three words. "Look, you went to the police before so I assume you understand that you are in potential danger," he added in a more stern voice as she opened her mouth to protest again. "I just think you need to consider some safety precautions. I have some contacts—"

"I told you I'm not going back to the police. Besides, if I did I wouldn't need _your_ help," her voice grew frustrated at where she thought he was going.

"I have some contacts," he repeated. "In personal bodyguard services. They're good. They're expensive, but they're good. If you like I can get you their information."

Hermione looked at him shrewdly and then as if realising that she would not win this battle she huffed in resignation and smiled in defeat. "I'll look into your recommendations."

Ron had prepared for more pushback and at that moment he almost didn't know what to do with himself. She was a solicitor and certainly a skilled one at debating. He felt this win almost came too easily but he wasn't going to argue.

"I'll get them to you tomorrow," he gave her an easy grin that she returned readily. They sat there in another comfortable silence until the sound of chiming from what

was undoubtedly a grandfather clock signaled that their hour had ended.

"That would be my cue to leave," he pointed in the direction of the sound and stood up to leave.

"Can I help you carry any of this to your car?" she inquired as he gathered his notebook, tape recorder and wet clothes.

"No, shouldn't be too heavy. Is it alright if I return the clothes to you later?" he had walked over to the door and was stuffing his items back into his bag.

"Of course, please. It's no bother at all," Hermione had also stood up by this point to see him out he guessed, but he noticed that her eyes were darting between him, the door, and the window. She walked swiftly over to the window and pulled back the curtains just enough to peer outside.

She made a loud tsking sound and breathed out heavily. "I would hate to send you out there now. It's still pouring," she stepped back from the window and looked towards him. "Wait here," she signaled for him to stay, putting up both her hands. She walked back to the room she had disappeared to earlier while on the phone with her client.

When she came back Ron had stacked the boxes she gave him by the door and was standing with his jacket on ready to brave the rain. "Do you have something I can cover these boxes with to keep them dry—"

"I've got a better idea," she smiled brilliantly. "I just checked the weather radar and if you just wait another half hour, you should be all clear." She crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest wall. Her smile morphed into a self-satisfied clever grin. On anyone else, Ron would almost call the look smug, but he had to admit to himself that he actually thought it looked attractive on her.

"Brilliant," he replied and looked around the room for where to go.

"Please sit, I will just be a few minutes," she straightened herself and gestured toward a royal blue sofa in her front room. As Ron made his way to sit, Hermione gathered their cups and biscuits from earlier on her tray and hurried into the kitchen. She reappeared a few minutes later with refreshed tea. She sat the tray on a coffee table just in front of the sofa and took a seat one cushion away from Ron. "I thought you might like another cup before you leave."

Ron nodded in appreciation and prepared his tea similar to earlier. He picked up another biscuit and proceeded to dunk it like before. Hermione also followed a similar

ritual. They both tried to sip the hot tea as quietly and politely as possible.

"Do you like being a private investigator?" Hermione broke the silence first, sitting down her tea cup in the process.

"It's...it's...a job," he gave about as vague a response as he could manage. Her eyes communicated that she understood; he did not want to talk about that any further. She tilted her head down in the opposite direction, no doubt trying to find a different course of conversation. Ron watched as she ran her left hand from the base of her jaw down her neck and then to the small patch of exposed skin from her chest. His ears warmed at his own boldness, worried she would turn back and see him staring at any moment. Suddenly her hand flattened against her skin and she turned back towards him with a gasp.

His eyes flickered back up to her eyes quickly, hoping she missed where they had just come from. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"My...my necklace...I was wearing it earlier," her eyes went wide. "It must have fallen off…," her voice trailed off as she began looking around herself on the sofa. "Can you help me look? I know it must be here somewhere. I thought I was wearing it—"

"You were," he quickly reassured her. Sitting his cup down, he stood up and slowly began walking back towards her dining table, inspecting the wood floor as he went. "I noticed it earlier. I think before we sat down to talk—" he stopped abruptly, not wanting to come off as if he had been eyeing her up and down. _It is my job to notice details_ , his mind added as a quick excuse.

She didn't seem to notice his guilty expression, instead his words appeared to spur her into action. She jumped up from the couch and walked over to what Ron now figured was her office. He continued to look around the floor in the front room and near the dining table. She walked out of the office shaking her head and mentioned that she was going to check upstairs. About a minute after she left, he saw the glint of something shiny around the leg of the table chair she had been sitting in. He reached forward and picked up the delicate gold chain he recognised as the one around her neck earlier. Standing up straight he took a moment to examine the necklace. Now that it was in his hand he could finally see that the pendent was in fact an animal, but he still couldn't quite tell what kind. He called up to her that he found it and returned back to the sofa, waiting for her return. When she arrived and sat back down he handed it over and she smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she plied him with gratitude. "This is one of my most treasured possessions."

"Not a bother, it was over by the table. I reckon you would have found it sooner or later," he gave a small smile, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. The rain hadn't died down yet, so he decided to press his luck. "If you don't mind me asking, what's the backstory? With the necklace, I mean."

"It was given to me by my father when I was in uni," she smiled to herself at what he figured were fond memories.

"This is an otter," she pointed to the small pendant in the palm of her hand. "Back in school I wasn't...well, I wasn't always the most popular person and my father gave

this to me to help me remember the best things about myself."

Ron looked up at her face at the sound of shakiness coming from her voice. He saw the telltale signs of water forming at the edges of her eyes and suddenly felt bad for asking the question. "You don't have to—"

"No, it's okay," she smiled weakly behind the almost tears. "The story is not that bad, I can just be a bit emotional, that's all." She let out a small sniff and dabbed her eyes with the back of her index finger. "Some of the other students thought I was a…a show-off and didn't have a problem letting me know," she let out a mirthless laugh. "Really it's been that way since primary school, so I'm not sure why I expected any better." Ron was keenly aware of the way she tucked one of her curls behind her ears absentmindedly as she spoke.

"My father had a real love for animals growing up, so he started naming everything and everyone he loved after his favourite animals," her eyes lit up again as she talked about her father. "Now don't laugh," she commanded him but her expression was playful, "but he used to call me his baby otter—I said don't laugh!"

Ron put his hands up in innocence but the slight upward curve of his mouth almost gave him away. He choked down his suppressed laughter as best he could before speaking next. "Why an otter?"

"He said they are brilliant little animals and playful as well. You must keep in mind he came up with this nickname when I was a toddler," she rolled her eyes before her next words. "He also told me the name made sense as otters though lovable can be vicious if they need to be. He told me that part when I was a teenager," she finished with a smirk. "Of course their viciousness is usually in protection of their families," she added wistfully, almost to herself.

Shaking her head, she continued, "That's all to say when some of the students at uni teased me for being a know-it-all, I took it rather hard. As I mentioned earlier, I was hoping that time would be different, being near adulthood and all, but people rarely change—"

"Some people don't change," Ron corrected her. "Many do, but at their own pace."

"You're right," she let out a heavy sigh. "I've changed myself since then, so it's only fair to assume many others have as well."

"Don't get me wrong, some of them are probably still utter shite—" he stopped himself at the look of her blanching at his language. "Sorry, speaking of old habits…," he gave a playful grin.

Rather than get upset, she returned the playful grin, but cut off his colourful tirade, "Anyway, my father got the necklace for me during my first Christmas break. I...I wasn't very happy when I got home that break. He wanted me to remember that know-it-alls can come in lovable packages too."

Ron smiled at her memory. "That certainly sounds important. I'm glad I could find it for you."

"Now let's discuss my finder's fee," his tone turned serious as he continued to speak.

Hermione looked flustered and let out a short sound of shock and surprise.

Before she could say a word, Ron's face split into a wide grin and he let out a full belly laugh as his upper body fell back into the sofa. "I'm so...sorry, I couldn't help myself," he sputtered through his laughter as Hermione looked at him with her eyebrows raised in indignation. He sobered a bit when he noticed she wasn't laughing with him. "Ahem, that was...I'm sorry that was...I'm a bit...I was trying to lighten the mood. I'm not always the best with heavy emotion," he said, looking as apologetic as he could manage.

"That's how you deal with emotions?" she raised an eyebrow. Her lips set in a grimace.

Ron cursed himself right then. Things had been going so well. Looking for a way out he peeked behind the curtain and saw the rain had stopped. He figured now was as good a time as any to escape. "Err...looks as if the rain stopped. It's probably best if I'm off, so you can get back to your afternoon," he stood up and moved over to the door and began putting his jacket back on. Hermione had stood as well but did not say anything. She was in the process of smoothing out wrinkles on her pants to occupy herself. Ron realised she had shared something sensitive with him and he tried to make light of it, but just ended up making things awkward.

"Look," she snapped her head up at the sound of his voice. "I didn't mean to make light of what happened to you. The finder's fee was definitely a joke but I didn't mean to upset you. I just...I understand what you went through."

"You do?" she asked unbelieving. By now she probably thought he was the type that made fun of people like her in school.

"Poor, dressed in nothing but ill-fitting hand-me-downs at an expensive boarding school, awful ginger hair, awkwardly tall, and I'm talking awkward like a baby giraffe walking," he was pleased to see her frown breaking as he continued on and finally she outright laughed when he did a very short impersonation of young Ron walking like a baby giraffe. "Trust me I knew about insecurities," he added looking straight into her eyes. "Still do if I'm honest."

"I just think sometimes it's good to laugh them off, or at least try. So no hard feelings?" he asked hopefully while extended a hand.

She chewed the corner of her bottom lip for a second before extending her own hand. "No hard feelings," she smiled up at him.

The feeling of her small warm hand sent a jolt through him. "I better be off before the rain starts up again," he said letting go of her hand. "I'll check in with you at least weekly, but I may contact you more frequently if I have any questions."

"Sounds like a plan, Mr. Weasley—"

"Ron...call me Ron. Since I'm already on a first name basis with you.

"Thank you, Ron."

"Of course," he nodded his goodbye and opened the door. The air was chilly after the rain but the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. He checked left and right as was his habit and then stepped back in to pick up the boxes. Hermione moved to close the door as he left. Ron turned back around just as she was about to finish closing it.

"Hermione," he called out.

"Yes."

"If something else happens, let me know immediately, but more importantly call the police if you feel your life is in immediate danger," he fixed her with concern in his eyes.

"I will," she replied. Something in her voice changing, softening. She closed the door all the way as Ron turned to head towards his car.

 _I haven't smiled this much since...well I'm not sure when_ , his mind was racing with sensible reasons why he seemed to be enjoying her company so much. He trudged along with the boxes as gracefully as possible.

Unfortunately for Ron, the boxes caused him to miss the figure shrouded in the shadows of the narrow alley between the two terrace houses across the street. As Ron moved down the street the person standing in the shadows tossed the spent remnants of a cigarette on the ground. Stomping on the remaining embers, the figure crossed the street and headed toward the house with the lavender door.


	5. The Chase

**A/N: I want to thank ObsessedRHShipper for beta reading this chapter for me. Also, please disregard where I previously said I was going to post twice a month. Warning for mention of death/suicide, but nothing graphic.**

Ron had been sitting in his father's Ford Anglia for just over five hours now. This was twice in a little over a week that he'd borrowed the car for work. He often marvelled at the fact that the old girl still ran. She had been with him through his teen joy riding days with Harry and she was still there for him today. He patted the steering wheel affectionately and then began tapping his right index finger on it as he hummed along with a song coming through the staticky radio. His mind wandered further as he was sucked into to the rhythmic strumming of the song.

The week had been somewhat disappointing. He had started off going through everything Hermione gave him. That had been quite a feat. Her notes were so detailed and methodical that Ron felt like he was back in school revising for a test. The other evidence left by the culprit was subtle and consisted of items so ubiquitous that it would be near impossible to run down where they might have come from. The one hope he held out was that the vast network of cameras across London may have captured some activity near her home. The chance of them being useful was slim based on what he recalled Harry grumbling about not too long ago on how useless the new camera system was turning out to be. Then there was the problem of getting his hands on any footage near enough to her home to be useful. One of the disadvantages of no longer being on the police force was all of the hoops he would need to jump through to get that footage. He didn't want to owe too many favours or cross too many red lines. He decided to hold out hope that the investigators on her closed case would have pulled any available footage. He factored that in as another reason why he needed to get his hands on that file. Maybe they hadn't found anything if they had closed the case, but Ron wanted to verify that for himself.

Most of the items delivered to her office had come through the post. Trying to track something through the post would be a bureaucratic mess and more importantly would require authority from a place like MI5. So Ron was left with the flowers as his best lead for a quick resolution on that front. The one problem he ran into was Hermione. Despite the painstakingly detailed level of notes she left on just about everything else, she hadn't included the name of the delivery service for the flowers. Ron had thought it curious she would miss such a detail. When he called her to ask for the information she seemed shocked by her own mistake and promised to get him the information from her firm's visitor log. That had been at least two days ago.

He hadn't expected to crack the case right off the bat. No matter what the tele wanted you to believe, investigation work was slow, and oftentimes fruitless. The ugly truth of police investigations is that a fair amount of crimes go unsolved. Witnesses are unreliable or uncooperative, or evidence is not collected properly or is contaminated before police even have a chance to collect it. Worse still, Ron had run ins with his fair share of corrupt or incompetent people on the force. The general injustice of it all was one of the reasons he grew so disillusioned in the first place.

Ron reflexively squeezed the steering wheel with both hands thinking back to the last straw that broke his confidence in the system. Ron could still hear the woman's screams after she found her son's body. He remembered the way his pulse had quickened as he ran up the stairs. The blood pumping in his temples had silenced everything but those screams. He hadn't bothered to draw a weapon because he already knew what he was going to find, what he had feared he would find after he received the voicemail. It was a sort of last rites or maybe a last plea for help. Ron often wondered if things would have turned out differently if he had been there when the call came through. _Could I have talked him down?_ he ruminated on this question more often than he wanted to admit. It was the single most frequent cause of his sleepless nights. He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for abandoning someone in need.

Ron felt his whole body heat up with rage just thinking about what had been done. His own complicitness in the death of an innocent boy. All for the glory of an arrest that didn't even stick. He closed his eyes for a moment longer than normal and breathed out a heavy sigh, dropping his head back onto the seat rest. He focused on remembering what his department sanctioned therapist had taught him were his calming words, trying to concentrate on slowing his rapidly rising pulse. Ron felt his head spinning out of control; he even felt like his body was buzzing. It was an interesting sensation he'd never felt before until he realised that it wasn't his body that was buzzing; it was coming from his pocket.

Without opening his eyes, he dropped his left hand to his front pocket and pulled out his mobile that he had set to vibrate. Using his other hand to open the mobile, he held it up to his ear. "Hullo?"

"Bugger off!" Ron groaned into the receiver after a minute, before flipping his mobile shut forcefully. He turned up the volume so he wouldn't miss any calls and tossed the mobile into the passenger seat, before picking up the last of a sandwich he bought earlier that day. Bill collectors had been hounding Ron for weeks now. He was usually evasive enough to throw them off for a few days at a time, but this last one had gotten through a couple of days in a row and added salt to the wound of Ron's already bad week. "Bleeding vampires", he grumbled to himself as shoved the remaining sandwich into his mouth with the least amount of grace as humanly possible.

He was reaching for his coffee in the cup holder of his car when his mobile roared to life again except this time it was blaring the lyrics to some god awful pop song.

"Argh!" he let out a guttural scream as he dropped the cup accidentally causing some of the hot liquid to splash onto his hands and the sleeve of his jacket. "What in the bloody...ugh," he sighed angrily as he looked at his mobile and saw Harry's name on the caller ID. _How in the world is this blasted song playing_ , he wondered, _I've never...Ginny!_ It was suddenly as if a light bulb went off in his head and he knew exactly who was to blame. _Damn Ginny for convincing me to let her program this stupid thing the other da_ y, he silently scolded himself for listening to his sister's advice. "I'll just add mum and dad's number so you can call them more and worry mum less," he squeaked out a high pitched mockery of his sister's voice. Of course, no one would ever really accuse Ginny Weasley of squeaking, but at this moment he didn't care. Everyone was fair game in the wake of his momentary wrath. Pressing the accept button before he had to hear another second of that song, he scowled again at his sister's trick before putting the mobile up to his ear.

"Wotcher, Harry—"

"You're sister is a bit mad, isn't she?" Harry responded in a tone that indicated he already knew the answer. That was not the first thing Ron had expected him to say.

"Yeah, reckon I tried to warn you about that for years."

"I knew it too."

"What did she do?" Ron asked, not needing to hear the story to assign blame. He knew that Harry was about as agreeable as any person could be in a relationship. His sister on the other hand suffered from the same cursed Weasley temper that he did. He imagined Harry had become intimately familiar with the phrase 'yes, dear.' He had never told either of them, but he always figured that they would make a good couple, at least after he got over the initial shock of his best mate dating his sister. But because she was the only girl, it also meant Ginny was too used to getting away with taking her temper out on others. Despite his many grievances at the unfairness of it all, this was still his baby sister so he didn't want Harry to complain about her too much.

"Look, mate. Before you say anything else, if you're calling just to tell me you're tossing her after she flirted with and chased after you for the better part of fourteen years...," Ron sighed as he thought of the consequences. "You're my mate, but I'm going to have to kick your arse if that happens."

"You know just on the principle of it," Ron added quickly before Harry could respond.

"Would we still be able to go to the pub?" Harry inquired.

"Don't see why not," Ron pretended to think about it. "One arse kicking in theory should cover it." Silence extended on the mobile for a few moments before the sound of laughter picked up from the other side. Ron let a smile break through the normal sour expression on his face and laughed along.

"Don't worry, mate. We're solid." Harry managed to say through his laughter. "But she did try to convince me and your entire family last night that I should grow a goatee."

Ron tried imagining this and the absurdity of that image only made him laugh louder. "No," he cried out in disbelief through his own laughter.

"Yeah, she said something about helping me look more mature," Harry's voice was incredulous.

"Don't do it, Harry," Ron agreed with Harry's scandalised tone. "Listen, don't take any shite from my sister," he added playfully.

"I knew you would be on my side," Harry declared. Ron felt like he could hear the smile in Harry's voice, which made him smile.

"I could've used your backup last night. Ginny got your mum to agree and you know George was in so he could take the mickey out of me...and it was all downhill from there. Your dad…," Ron stopped hearing what Harry was saying. He suddenly remembered where he was supposed to have been the night before. Shite, he thought as he realized why Harry was probably really calling.

"So was it mum or Ginny?" Ron asked cutting off the rest of Harry's speech.

"What?" Harry replied, caught off guard.

Ron didn't respond. He knew that Harry knew what he was asking.

Harry gave a slight huff after getting caught. "It's both of 'em, mate," Harry cleared his throat. "You know they both mean well."

"They mean well?" Ron repeated the words back to Harry unconvinced. _One treats me like I'm a toddler, bound to get into an accident at any second. And the other treats me like I'm one step away from drowning in my feelings_ , Ron thought to himself dejectedly but kept those thoughts to himself.

"Why didn't you make it yesterday? Percy was rather put out that you were missing," Ron knew Harry's sudden change of focus to Percy was meant to divert Ron from a rant that was building inside him about being a grown-up and not needing his mum or sister to take care of him. Harry was always a great diplomat in domestic disputes between Ron and his family. Ron always figured that was probably the same reason why Harry's relationship with Ginny had lasted to this point.

"Sorry, it just slipped my mind. I've been working on a case—" Ron started before Harry cut him off this time.

"Ah, you do get wrapped up in your _cases_ , nowadays."

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, checking the clock on his car's display. He reached with his free hand and picked up the binoculars laying in his passenger seat. He did a quick check to make sure no one on the street would see him and then he raised the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the door leading out of a garden flat five cars down on the opposite side of the street.

"You just...ever since...you know...what happened and you quitting the force and starting this investigation service, you have a tendency to get wrapped up in some of your cases...or rather some of the people in your cases."

A distracted 'huh' was Ron's only reply. He thought he saw the person he had been waiting for coming out of the door of the flat he was watching but it was someone else.

"You know I support you, but I also know you took that case with the kid really personally," Harry seemed to have taken Ron's lack of a response as a cue to go on. "I couldn't tell who was closer to death, you or that drug dealer. No one wants to see that happen again—"

"Hold on," Ron stopped him. "You lot think that is what's going on?" Ron let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "Look, don't worry about that. This case is about as far away from drug dealers as I can get."

"What's it about then?"

"Forget. It. Harry," he punctuated each word for emphasis. "I don't need your help—"

"I wasn't going to offer," Harry cut in. "I just wanted to know what my best mate is up to. Is that a crime?"

Ron let out a sigh. He knew Harry could never resist jumping in to help, even when it wasn't needed. Ron had come to terms with this years ago. As well as the fact that sometimes he resented his best mate for it. He knew Harry didn't mean anything by it, but it also meant Harry usually got all of the praise for it. Ron used to envy that. He knew envy was a dirty word but it was the truth. It's not like he wanted Harry to fail at something; he had just wanted to be the one who received the praise for once. He got his wish and then some three summers ago, after a successful sting operation. That got him decorations and honours, but he soon learned about the regret that could accompany the glory.

Ever since then, he had indulged Harry a bit more than usual when he stuck his nose in where it didn't belong. Still, if he told Harry the full details of Hermione's case, he knew his best mate would insist on reporting it to the police, so he decided to be as vague as possible. "I'm working with a solicitor, looking into confidential matters on some of her clients."

He had thought of going to Harry to help look into her sealed file, but he knew Harry would raise too many questions. Instead, he called in a favour with a former colleague that he knew was much more willing to bend rules without needing to know the whole backstory. She didn't have as high a rank as Harry so it was going to take her a little more time, but Quinn had never let him down before.

"That's great!" Harry sounded genuinely pleased for him. "What kind of cases does she handle?"

"Divorce," was all Ron replied. He thought this was the best place to stick to the truth. Besides it was work he had done before, albeit not at the caliber of Ms. Granger's firm.

"Let me know if—"

"If I need any help. Yeah mate, I got it," Ron said as benignly as possible, but honestly sometimes Harry was a broken record. "Look, just do me a favour and call the dogs off me."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Course, I might tell your mum and your sister about the whole dog comparison," Harry added with what Ron suspected was followed by a cheeky grin that he couldn't see.

"You do that and I'll let it slip to Ginny all the times you've referred to her as your own personal banshee after you've had too many pints."

"I—"

"Don't forget I have back up."

"Who? Neville? He wouldn't…," Ron heard Harry's voice fade off of as he undoubtedly contemplated all the scenarios. Ron himself was imagining Neville stuck between Harry and his sister and knew there was no way he could last. This wasn't an insult to Neville who had come a long way from the awkward teen he knew growing up. Neville was one of the best people he knew and more intuitive than most people gave him credit for at first glance. Still, none of that was a match for Ron's sister on a mission.

The line was silent for a beat before Harry cleared his throat, "Well, I don't really see the need to discuss the details of our conversation with your family." Ron smiled triumphantly to himself.

"Tell them I'm sorry I didn't make it there," Ron added seriously. Though he would never admit it, he did enjoy spending time with his family despite the headache they gave him about all of his recent life choices. Deep down, it felt good to know that they cared after years of feeling overlooked, even though at the surface he complained about all the fuss. "Let mum know that I'll call Percy the Pontificator to have lunch sometime next week so he can tell me in agonising detail about all his new accolades. And let my sister know I've not gone off the deep end again so she doesn't need to worry."

"I'll let them know," Harry's voice was understanding, if not resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get anything else out of Ron.

"I've got to go, Harry, but take care of yourself out there."

"You too."

Ron heard a rustling sound as Harry made to hang up the end of the line when he remembered something important. "Harry," he shouted into the receiver hoping Harry was still there.

"Yeah?" Harry responded.

"Pub, tomorrow night?"

"Course, I wasn't sure you were still going to make it; figured I'd ask you later—"

Ron smirked to himself, "If I ever miss pub night, you have my permission to call the Missing Person's unit."

Hanging up the mobile, this time he turned the volume back off before tossed it into the passenger seat. He didn't want to hear that song again. He arched his head back into the headrest and stared up at the roof of the car. He felt like his muscles would atrophy if he had to be stuck in this space much longer. Tilting his head back down he looked out the car windshield back down the street towards the basement flat again.

"Come on, come on," he whispered under his breath. He sat up and narrowed his eyes on the door. He focused all his energy on trying to to will the person he was waiting for to walk out the door. _Who am I supposed to be? Neo, from the bloody Matrix_ , he scoffed at himself and fell back into the seat once again.

Another hour passed and Ron thought his stomach was going to cannibalise itself. He thought he had prepared a sufficient amount of stakeout snacks, but he should of known that when it came to his stomach the old saying was wrong. His stomach was actually bigger than his eyes. Just as he was about done debating with himself the sensibility of eating the stale biscuits that had been in the back of the car for several months, he saw movement coming from the direction of the door he had been watching. He quickly put his binoculars back up to his face to get a better look.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath. The man he had been waiting for had finally surfaced from what Ron had been told was a very discrete high stakes poker den. Ron had been waiting for Hermione's ex-boyfriend for the past six hours.

 _Jonathan de Vogues_ , what a name he had thought when he first read it. His upbringing wasn't as French as his name sounded. His father had married a wealthy British woman, and he had grown up n a fairly upper class life. His social life hadn't taken off until he was in college. Distantly related to nobility and was what Ron guessed most women considered a very handsome bloke, he was quickly snatched into the inner circles of almost celebrities. From there he climbed his way up to page six celebrity status. Apparently that was more lucrative than one would think. He now even had his own group of people hanging on to him for fame. It was quite brilliant really, if Ron weren't so put off by the idea of paparazzi, he would think it was a decent gig. From the short amount of time he had to research, he realised that Hermione's ex was no idiot. That made sense given how smart she was, but he still couldn't tell how someone like Hermione could go for someone with the persona of a flashy party boy.

Ron threw the binoculars onto the floor of the back seat and opened the car door as he saw the man set off down the direction opposite from him. He grabbed his mobile and keys and shoved them into his pockets as he got out of the car. He almost shut the car door when he remembered his hair. He angled the door and bent down to check his disguise. The dark brown wig he wore was cut in a bowl shape with ridiculous amounts of fringe in a side swept fashion. Ron thought he looked like one of those ridiculous teeny boppers that were all the rage these days, so it helped him blend in even more with the crowd. Ron's height and hair were curses as far as he was concerned when it came to investigations. The height he couldn't do anything about but the hair was easy to hide.

Ron ran his fingers through the fringe one last time and then he straightened up to his full height. Locking the car door, he shut it gently before setting off after his target. Luckily for Ron, the man was shorter than him, which was not an uncommon occurrence, and it made it easier for Ron's long strides to close some of the distance that had been between them at the start.

Ron picked up the pace when his target entered a tube station. He jogged down the escalators, dodging the people standing on the right trying to make sure he kept his the man in his sight. Ron picked up even more speed when he saw the man running toward a train that was getting ready to leave. He dodged the exiting traffic and just barely squeezed through the closing doors one car down from where Hermione's ex had got on just a few seconds before him. Ron walked towards the end of the car to give himself a better view of his mark through the window where the cars connected.

The train was crowded so he chose to remain standing and held onto the grab rail to keep himself steady. Ron casually turned his head to the left to make sure he could still see him, and when he confirmed it he dropped his head down so as not to be too obvious. The fringe from the new hair was falling into his eyes and Ron had to shake his head repeatedly to get it out of the way. At that moment, he felt a distinct gaze to his right and glanced at the source just over his shoulder. That's when his eyes caught another pair of blues one staring back. The eyes were attached to a very pretty blonde woman. Once she realised that she had Ron's attention, she batted her eyes and gave a shy, demure smile as she looked back down at the book in her lap.

Ron smiled a little to himself. _Must be the hair_ , he thought seriously. He had been getting more looks than usual and that was the only thing that made sense. He wasn't as self-conscious as he had been as a teenager. He knew he wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't exactly a male model. And the ginger hair...it put some people off entirely, and to others it was some weird fetish. If he never heard another woman refer to his bum as a 'ginger snap' for the rest of his life it would be too soon.

He looked over again and saw that she was once more looking his way. A spark in her eyes communicated a willingness to strike up a conversation. It had been awhile, and Ron was no monk, but he was also on a case, and besides there was someone else on his mind lately. It started almost the moment she left his office that first night. After a week of dreaming of her eyes both day and night, he wasn't foolish enough to dismiss he was drawn to Hermione. Of course, it was just a physical attraction and nothing else.

He could still feel the pressure from her hand on his skin almost a week after they last met at her house. Every time he closed his eyes at night, he saw her brown eyes. Even now, if he closed his eyes he could see her loose hair draping her shoulders and framing her exposed, soft neckline—

He felt his body jerk forward as the train came to a stop. Ron recovered from his wandering thoughts and looked over at his target to see him preparing to exit the train. He straightened himself and turned to walk towards the exit. On the way to the door, he looked down back in the direction of the pretty blonde; she looked up at him with that shy smile again. Ron returned a polite one and hopped off the train.

It took him a moment to find Hermione's former flame again in the crowd. Ron started to worry he lost him until he saw the man's back on the escalator out of the tube station. Ron thought about how he should make his next move. He liked the tense feeling of relying on his instincts in the moment. It made the win more satisfying.

He had been trying to find Mr. de Vogues since almost the moment he took the case. It wasn't so much that he thought the man was the guilty party. For one, he didn't appear to have had any known association with Hermione before their brief relationship began earlier this year, and secondly, from everything Ron could find on the man, he just really didn't fit the type. Still something had bothered Ron about Hermione's hesitant responses to questions about him. Maybe she just didn't want to drag an ex into her mess. _Course, she could be the one with something to hide_ , the more objective part of his brain offered helpfully. Ron dug his hands into his jean pockets as he considered that thought. He wasn't going to rule that out. Not that he thought she was lying but everyone has something to hide. That was the main reason he had decided to avoid asking her for help in contacting her ex.

Thinking once more on his approach, Ron considered his options. There was always the straightforward approach. Ron had given that one serious thought, but then he realised that despite his instincts he still couldn't trust the guy completely. He had decided the next best option was to catch him off-guard somewhere alone. The next problem was finding him alone. Ron had tracked him for two days and he had been surrounded by people the entire time. Finally, Ron found someone in his circle that he could pay off for a tip on where the man would be over the next couple of days. He'd convinced him that he was just paparazzi looking to score some pictures of Jonathan alone. The friend had been more than willing to offer up the location of the illegal poker den Jonathan frequented and the fact that he was horrible at the game, usually losing thousands and then going somewhere to drink off his losses.

In this case, the tip had paid off in dividends. Ron had only waited about two hours before Jonathan showed up at the poker den, possibly walking in from the direction of the nearest tube station. Ron thought it odd he hadn't been dropped off, but then maybe it was Jonathan's effort to be more discreet. Waiting just two hours in stakeout time was considered a lucky break. That was until Ron found himself waiting another four hours before the man resurfaced. That's when Ron had decided to pursue him on foot, so he didn't lose him.

Ron's luck struck again as Jonathan seemed to slow in front of a pub. He seemed to hesitate, clutching the back of his head with his right hand, the other hand stuffed into his jean pocket as he bounced from one foot to the other. Whatever resolve he had to break his normal cycle apparently lost out as he finally turned into the pub. Ron hung back a few minutes to make sure that he wasn't going to turn around and leave and to make it less noticeable when he himself walked in. Once he figured the coast was clear, Ron walked in casually and walked up to the bar. He ordered a drink at the end of the bar and then selected a table in the back corner to observe. The whole time he made sure to maintain an unaffected air; he didn't want to signal just yet that he recognized him. Jonathan currently had his head resting in one hand while the other slid along the rim of his glass. Something was bothering him and that was all the better for Ron's plan. Ron picked up his pint and leaned back into his chair as he waited.

After an hour of nursing his drink, and watching Jonathan go through two drinks and looking as if he was ready to order another, Ron decided now was the moment to strike. Strolling up to the bar two seats down from Jonathan, he signaled the bartender for a second round and pulled out the bar seat while he waited. A few seconds later he saw Jonathan tap his glass and signal towards the bartender.

"Mate, you should take it easy over there," Ron said in jovial tone, leaning his head towards Jonathan but not fully making eye contact with him.

He heard Jonathan snort, most likely in annoyance at being bothered by someone. He probably came to places like this to escape being noticed.

"Not that I'm judging, mind you," Ron continued in his best imitation of one of those overly friendly talkative blokes you run into at a neighborhood pub. The one who always seems to be there and always seems ready to dole out unwanted but good natured advice.

Jonathan snorted again this time picking up his newly refreshed drink and tipping it back.

"I mean, look at me," Ron continued on. "Here I am drinking during the day—"

"Look, I'm not really interested," Jonathan cut him off.

Now that he had responded, Ron made his next move. He turned his head fully this time to look at the man. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget my own manners...blimey!" Ron slammed his own drink back down on the bar at the same time that he made his exclamation. The bartender and the few other strangers sitting at the bar all turned to look at him.

"Will you look at that, Simon?" he motioned at the bartender. He had learned the man's name earlier when he ordered his first drink. Thought it might be handy to appear like a local. As expected, the bartender furrowed his eyebrows at Ron in confusion. Ron waved off the look and the bartender went back to drying his glasses. Probably assuming Ron was just some lightweight who was already drunk.

"I know you," Ron said, turning his body fully towards Jonathan.

"Yeah? Don't tell me. You've seen my picture before," Jonathan spat back at him bitterly. "Tell me can you really know someone you've only seen through pictures?"

"No, that's not—"

"You don't strike me as the type to buy tabloids...but you never know these days," he had turned towards Ron and looked him once over.

Ron held up his hands in the universal signal to calm down. "Whoa, look mate, you've got it all wrong. I've never seen your mug in a magazine before."

Jonathan continued to peer at Ron with his dark grey eyes, his expression turning to an expectant one with arched eyebrows. He was clearly annoyed at the forced interaction but he was going to let Ron explain.

"I mean, I've seen your picture before…," Ron held his hands up again to stop the man from replying and then quickly continued on. "Not in a magazine, but with my cousin."

The expectant expression on Jonathan's face turned to one of confusion and deep thought. Jonathan was trying to place to whom he could possibly be related.

"Not a close cousin, so we never met, properly," Ron motioned a finger back and forth between the two of them. "In fact, she and I don't speak often, but our mums they keep in touch." Ron could see the curiosity growing in the other's face.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan finally spoke up. "Who is your cousin?"

"Hermione...Hermione Granger."

Ron thought he saw several expressions move across the man's face at that moment. The first was recognition at the name, then something that seemed like fond remembrance, and finally a mixture of what was most likely regret and anger.

This time it was Ron's turn to wait for the other to say something. He gave the man a friendly, lazy grin, while he waited for acknowledgement of this piece of information. The other man remained in a slight daze and then seemed to realise his own odd behaviour before clearing his throat to speak.

"Uh...yes...Hermione...How is she?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter. He tried for a nonchalant air, but his left hand clenched around his drink so hard at the act of saying her name that his knuckles were now a ghostly white colour. "Sorry. She never mentioned distant cousins before, so you have me at an advantage here," he added.

"Imagine she wouldn't since we're, you know, distant," Ron said with a slight chuckle to break the tension. Jonathan returned the chuckle and relaxed back into his bar seat. He drew his drink back up to his lips.

"She's doing okay _now_ , I reckon, from what my mum says," Ron continued. "She's...uh...she's not seeing anyone new."

"Oh...that...uh...that's too bad. She deserves to be happy," Jonathan replied running his hand through his almost black hair. His voice implied sincerity, but his eyes shifted away at that moment. He clenched his square jaw causing veins to appear in his temples.

"If you don't mind me asking…," Ron hesitated a second trying to give the effect of nothing more than a nosy relation. "What happened between you two?"

"Yeah, it was a bit sudden? Wasn't it?"

"Yeah...my mum said she seemed a bit cut up about it."

The other man let out an indignant guffaw that seemed unbecoming of his otherwise noble features. "If she was cut up about something, it probably wasn't about me."

"How do you mean?" Ron asked before taking a sip of his beer. He tried not to appear too eager in his question.

"I'm sure you know," Jonathan laid his drink on the counter. "It's those cases," his newly free hand waved through the air wildly at his own words. "You know how she is about work."

"Yeah, practically obsessed," Ron snorted as he took a wild stab at what Jonathan was thinking just based on what he already knew of Hermione.

"Obsessed?!" Jonathan exclaimed. "That's putting it mildly. She would spend hours, into the early morning, revising her arguments."

"That's probably pretty typical of most solicitors though, yeah?"

"Not when they're already most likely going to win the case!" Jonathan's voice went up several octaves.

"Well, I'm sure she has her reasons," Ron added, feeling the need to defend her.

"Maybe…," Jonathan grabbed his drink again and studied it for a moment as he swirled the liquor in his glass before taking another sip. "It wasn't too bad really...not until the Hunt case—"

"Hunt?" Ron repeated to himself. That was not one of the names in Hermione's list of clients.

"Some bloke that was terrible to his wife and kids," Jonathan offered. "At first, I thought she was over-preparing like usual, but then it did start to look like he was going to win. His people somehow got child protection services to make a statement against the mother's fitness. It was all rubbish, mind you," he slammed his drink back on the bar.

"She took it hard...the idea of losing the case," Jonathan went on signaling for another drink. Ron raised his eyebrows at that decision, but the man seemed to be handling himself well so he let him continue. "It wasn't just pride though. She cares...about each and every one of those clients...like they were her own bloody relations," he gestured toward her fake cousin.

"That sounds like her," Ron added thoughtfully. He couldn't help but notice the care for her that had returned to the man's voice.

"What happened...with the case?" Ron asked tentatively.

Jonathan picked his drink up and took a sip. He appeared to savour his drink, closing his eyes and tilting his head back slightly. He ran his hand through his black hair a few more times, like someone trying to figure how to tell a story to their liking.

"She won...," he finally said and then proceeded to chew his bottom lip. "I never doubted her. I always knew she would find a way," he added in a forced confident tone.

"Anyway, I think that's enough about that. No offence, but I didn't exactly come here to talk about my ex-girlfriend," Jonathan quipped with a small mile, but there was a hurt present in his expression.

Ron nodded along with him. He let the man's words repeat in his mind, trying to grasp onto what was bothering him about what he just learned. Ron understood the sudden change in subject as an indicator that Jonathan had either told him all he knew or all he wanted to reveal. Realising he had got as much as he was going to get out of the man at that moment, he decided to go along with the change.

Ron didn't want to make himself seem suspicious by asking questions about Hermione and then running away so he decided to stay and make small talk with Jonathan for another hour. Before he realised it that hour turned into at least two. Despite his initial misgivings about Hermione's taste in a party boy, he was starting to see why the man may have appealed to her on some level. Even through the alcohol, the man remained sharp but friendly. They had a spirited debate about the last World Cup and whether Jonathan had more of an affinity for England or France.

By the time Ron stood up to leave, the two had built a camaraderie over sports, food, and life. Apparently, Jonathan was just as appalled by his own lifestyle as everyone else but once he had started down the road of a party boy, it was hard for him to get people to change their perceptions of him. Ron sympathised with that struggle. For years, he struggled to break out of his own stereotype as the funny but lazy sidekick to his best mate.

 _He's not bad_ , Ron thought as he clasped hands with him and patted the man on the shoulder. _He's not as funny as me thoug_ h, that second thought almost stopped Ron dead in his tracks. He would spend his trip back home thinking over the satisfaction that thought gave him.

"Nice meeting you…," Jonathan stalled at the realisation that Ron had never given him a name.

"Danny," Ron quickly offered as he turned to leave. "If you ever run into Hermione you can mention you ran into me." Ron secretly hoped he could rely on the fact that exes rarely spoke.

"Doubt I'll ever have the chance," the other man mumbled as he raised his glass towards Ron. "She probably thinks I'm a bloody coward." Ron froze at that new admission. He couldn't say that he wasn't just a little pleased that the relationship between Hermione and her ex seemed to be beyond repair. He made sure his expression was neutral before turning back around to face the other man.

"Why would she think that? You seem like a good bloke," he replied casually.

"S'nothing," Jonathan shook his head in an effort to dismiss his last statement. "I'll tell you a piece of friendly advice though, because I like you," he smiled genuinely at Ron who returned the smile. "If you ever meet the right one, don't let anyone get in your way."

"Isn't the saying anyone or anything?" Ron responded.

"Yeah, that too," Jonathan returned with a far off look in his eyes and a sour expression on his face. Jonathan drained the rest of his drink and signaled for another. The bartender eyed him wearily.

Ron clapped him on the back one more time and put down a ten pound note. "This one's on me, but after that you should take it easy," he added before leaving.


	6. Drowning

**A/N: First, I owe an apology for taking so long to post again. I'm going to have to negate an earlier comment I made about more frequent and consistent posting. That was before I realized what I had gotten myself into with this plot. I won't take too long to post again, I just can't guarantee every two weeks. The noir film recommendations will also be more sporadic.**

 **Big shout out to my beta, ObessessedRHShipper, who reviewed this chapter and also helped me correct errors in the Prologue and Chapter 1. Most of the changes are grammar, so nothing I think you need to re-read, unless you want to. Chapters 2 and 3 are still unbeta'd so I should have updates for those soon as well. I also updated the summary of the story to make it cleaner and put warnings up front (although, I'll still make an effort to include warnings within chapters for major issues...for example, this chapter deals with alcohol abuse).**

 **Thank you for any follows, favorites, and comments (or just simply taking your time to read).**

"Take it easy," Ron scoffed at his own words of wisdom to a practical stranger only a few nights ago as hot water beat against his back. _Should've taken your own bloody advice,_ an annoyingly responsible part of his brain mocked him. He tried to block out that nagging voice and give in to the soothing feeling of the water that was now pounding against his shoulders after he turned his body to splash water on his face. Each droplet brought a moment of relief from the stress that had built up in his muscles throughout his reckless weekend. He turned around again to grant the shower spray access to his aching back once more. He rested his palms with fingers spread wide against the tiled shower wall, as the feel of the water helped clear his mind.

Ron reached to turn off the water and grabbed his towel to dry off. His thoughts wandered back to the otherwise good news that had most likely set him on a downward spiral. But for what reason, he still was not sure.

 _Thursday night with Harry and Neville had started well enough. It had been a welcome reprieve from his work. Along with Hermione's case, Ron had a few other small time jobs come in. He sat at the small card table that doubled as a dining table in his flat, while he waited for Harry to meet up with him before they headed to meet Neville. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a paper laying on top of a stack of unread newspapers. He had forgotten that he had brought it here. He reached to pulled it off the stack and read the list it contained over again. Ron let out a loud huff and and let his body drop back into his chair still holding the document._

 _Ron ran his fingers over the coffee stains that decorated the right edge of the paper. He imagined that Hermione had either worked on it late into the night, or too early in the morning for his taste. Either way, she had been thorough once again. Or so he initially thought. He had been able to cross off more than half of the people listed after just a few days of investigation. Mainly people who were too far away or on holiday when the pictures were taken. That left an odd mix of friends and distant family who didn't appear to have a reason to stalk her at first glance and the individuals she had already identified. The one notable omission was the name mentioned by her ex-boyfriend. 'Maybe it was just a mistake,' he rationalised to himself._

 _Her list had contained name upon name of former clients, and more prominently, their spouses. These names were the ones that chiefly made up her files of suspects. Ron was sure there had to be some breach of confidentiality here but she had managed to limit her notes to items that were public knowledge. Still a few points that were meant to stay undisclosed crept through. Maybe she figured her safety was worth it. 'Or maybe that's why she came to a back alley detective...for discretion—'_

 _A pounding on his door interrupted his thoughts. Caught off-guard, Ron immediately calculated in his mind how quickly he could get to his gun that he kept near his bed when he heard a voice he trusted above all others._

" _Oi, Ron...mate, are you in there?" Harry's voice was peppered with a hint of concern as the door handled was jiggled furiously._

 _Ron merely rolled his eyes as he stood and, not wasting any time, moved to the door before his best mate had a chance to overreact and break it down. He grumbled to himself while he unlocked the door and unceremoniously swung it open, then walked back towards his table to grab his wallet without greeting Harry._

" _Good to see you too," Harry quipped._

" _Sorry, I was just lost in some thoughts about work," Ron flashed a quick smile, but it was tight on his face. Harry returned a similar one, and Ron was relieved when he wasn't pushed for further discussion about his work. Instead, they turned their conversation to the easy stuff as they made their way to meet up with Neville...football, Ginny's antics, and Ron's personal favourite...the latest rumors from the force. Ginny always joked that Ron and Harry carried on like two teenage girls._

 _They met Neville at new pub he had been pestering them to try for weeks. Finally, Harry had convinced Ron to branch out. The place was nice, but not that much better than their usual spot. 'A pint's a pint,' Ron thought as he became more confused about Neville's insistence on meeting there. That confusion started to lift the moment the owner of the pub came over and greeted Neville with a very enthusiastic hug. The two parted and Neville instantly looked flustered. He scratched his head and_ _shifted back and forth on his feet while b_ _oth Harry and Ron looked at him with some slight signs of confusion etched on their faces._

' _Hannah Abbott,' she offered with a smile and outstretched hand after an awkward few seconds passed without introductions. Ron and Harry both shook her hand in turn and they all sat down to talk after she got a round for the table. Ron couldn't help but notice the way Neville and Hannah finished each other's sentences as they talked about how they met at some small garden centre tucked away near Neville's flat._

' _I was admiring some grasses—'_

 _Ron furrowed his brow at that comment, right before Hannah cut in._

" _And that's when I said 'is this Setaria taken?'" she ended with a roar of laughter._

" _It's a type of grass," Neville added helpfully after looking back and forth between Ron and Harry._

" _Right—yeah...I get it now," Ron nodded along apprehensively, still a little confused causing Neville to laugh heartily. Harry turned his head towards Ron and raised his eyebrows for just a second. Ron returned the gesture. He had never seen Neville happier. He put on the most sincere smile he could muster and joined in on the routine of asking the new couple questions and telling embarrassing stories about Neville. He thought Neville was going to choke on his pint when Harry started in on where exactly they had found his lost frog._

 _Ron chuckled along with his mates, but despite his best efforts his mind began wandering to the darker he kept to himself. 'I wonder if I'll ever be that happy,' he asked himself as he smiled at another plant joke. 'Would I even deserve it?' he asked himself morbidly._

" _You okay, mate?"_

" _Huh—_ " _Ron looked at Harry who was watching him carefully._

" _You seem...distracted."_

 _Glancing over at Neville and Hannah, he saw them deep in some intimate whispered exchange. He turned back to Harry and his concerned gaze, which made Ron want to melt into his seat. Instead he smiled._

" _I just...I just have a headache and I'm a bit knackered. I suspect this," he pointed to his barely touched second pint, "is making thing worse. I should probably go," his tone was surprisingly upbeat enough that Harry visibly relaxed at his words._

" _Do you need help getting back to your flat?" Harry offered._

" _Nah, mate. I could do with some fresh air and a bit of quiet."_

 _After saying goodbye to the group, Ron started out towards his flat, but found himself veering off towards somewhere else. He hadn't lied when he said he was knackered or that his head hurt, but he hadn't exactly corrected Harry's assumption that he was going to his flat. Not even thirty minutes later, he found himself at his favourite hole in the wall, drinking far more than his weight in whiskey. Ron knew he was pissed when he let a fellow patron rope him into a rousing rendition of the drinking song "Beer, Beer, Beer". The bartender also recognised that he was more than a few sheets to the wind and had another regular escort him the last couple of blocks back to his flat that he hadn't slept at in months._

 _Stumbling into his flat, he barely made it to his sofa before his unstable legs gave way. The room was spinning, or maybe he was; he couldn't really tell. 'Shite, no more drinking,' he promised himself just before his vision faded to black. It would be four more days before he kept that promise to himself._

 _Ron had opened his eyes Monday morning and immediately shut them again. "Bloody hell," he whimpered in pain. This time his head was actually pounding. Every time he tried to open his eyes, the room spun. Trying to sit up was worse; he felt as if he would be sick almost immediately._

 _Ron finally opened his eyes long enough to see the spilled glass of whiskey on his sofa. He sat up slightly, bracing himself on his forearms. A small trail of drool trailed behind him as he l_ _ifted his head up. He rubbed his hands up and down his face, slow at first, then increasingly more aggressively hoping to calm his headache._

' _What time is it?' he wondered and started to rummage through the sofa cushions for his mobile. Coming up empty-handed, he started to look around his coffee table and the surrounding floor. He was starting to worry he may have lost it when he heard a buzzing sound coming from between the cushions he could have sworn he just searched. Diving into where the sound was coming from, he grabbed the mobile, opening it before he could see who was calling._

" _Hello?" he answered gruffly. He raised his free hand to massage his pounding forehead as he winced at the sound of his own voice._

" _Oh...Hello! I'm looking for Mr. Ronald Weasley," he immediately recognised her voice. He sat back on the sofa and rubbed his palms against his pants to dry them them and give him a moment compose himself._

" _Speaking. Although no one has ever called me Ronald except my mum. This isn't her pretending to be someone else to trick me into talking, is it?" he said groggily. He started to smile at his own joke, but immediately regretted the pain from trying to move his face and grimaced instead with a sharp intake of breath instead._

" _What…? I'm sorry, I don't know your mum. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger," she replied seriously._

" _I know. Just a little early morning humour…," Ron flipped the phone over in his hand to get a look at the time and his eyes went slightly wide at the realisation that it was an hour after sunrise._

" _Really early…," he added, making a mental note to have a discussion with his client in the future about calling on people at indecent hours._

" _Yes, I'm sorry...I get into my office rather early and calling you was on my list of things to do this morning. I thought I was ringing your office number and would just leave a message. I must've gotten the numbers mixed up," her response was rushed and there was an embarrassed tremor to her voice._

" _S'alright," he drawled out. "Probably better you reached me this way. Not sure if I would have made it in to my office today," he said truthfully._

" _I was hoping to get an update on the case," a slight pause punctuated the conversation. "Not now, obviously. I was going to leave a message that we should meet to discuss any updates."_

 _Ron's shoulders tensed thinking about his investigation, or lack thereof, over the past several days. He looked around his room and saw heaps of rubbish. "Yes, of course we can meet this afternoon," he gnashed his teeth the moment the words left his lips._

" _Great, how about later this morning? Maybe around eleven. I'm out of the office for the rest of the morning, but I should be back by then."_

" _I will see you at eleven."_

" _Perfect, bye."_

" _Bye," he replied back to her, but she had already hung up._

" _Just brilliant, Weasley," he spoke out loud to no one. He let his head fall back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Ron felt immensely guilty for not getting further on her case. This woman's life was in danger and here he was having a pity party, because what...he was alone...he chose that; maybe his career stalling out...but that had been his choice as well. He would have to psychoanalyze himself another time. He needed to figure out how to get back on this case. 'I probably look like shite, I definitely smell…,' he sniffed himself, 'like shite, and I have no leads to go on. All I did was read through her research and stalk her bloody ex—'_

 _Ron's head snapped up fast...too fast...and pain immediately followed the motion, but he was too preoccupied with his new train of thought to be bothered by it. 'Hunt. This will give me a chance to follow-up on that name.'_

 _Ron wasn't sure he wanted Hermione to know just yet what he was working on. He couldn't be sure if her omission of that name was purposeful or accidental. One thing he knew after years in this kind of work was if she had something to hide, he didn't want her to be nervous and shy away from the case. No, he needed to plan this out carefully._

 _Before he could to that, his first order of business was a shower._

That's how he found himself getting ready at what for him was an absurdly early hour. After he had towelled off, Ron pulled on a smart pair of dark blue suit trousers and a dark grey blazer. He always thought those colours looked the best in contrast to his red hair and freckled skin. He tousled his hair a bit before deciding that it was probably best to slick it back. After his hair was styled, he turned his head from side to side to check out his profile. Deciding that he looked the part he wanted to play, he made for the door, snatching up his bag and keys on the way out.

Ron walked into the firm of Paddock & Foote and was immediately struck by the modern and open space. The firm was located within the Square Mile in the heart of London's financial district. The interior was appropriately swanky, given the posh location. Everyone walking around was put together and talking fast in a self-important manner. Ron's personal favourites were the ones with small devices attached to their ears that looked like the carrying on chats with themselves out in the open. Not that he thought anything wrong with having a good chat with oneself; some of the best discussions he ever had were with himself in his office.

Ron swallowed thickly before stepping fully into the territory of sharks. His goal was almost halted immediately. It wasn't building security that impeded him; he had easily been able to talk his way past them. The real challenge had been her receptionist.

She was a petite, unassuming looking woman. "Welcome to Paddock & Foote. Can I help you?" she smiled at him brightly from her desk.

"Hello, I'm here to see Hermione Granger," his voice was steady and easy-going.

"Oh!" her eyes widened and did a double take. "Ms. Granger…erm…is not in at the moment...Oh dear, I hope there has not been a mix-up. What is your name?"

"Ron Weasley."

"Let me check…," she said, concentrating on the electronic appointment system on her computer screen. Ron rested an elbow on ledge of her reception desk and flashed her a quick grin as he nodded at her in understanding.

"Mr. Weasley, you say?" she said with a hint of recognition in her voice. He flashed another breezy smile.

"Yes, dear, she did mention your name...ah yes... _Ronald_ Weasley...although…," her voice stalled as she searched through some papers in front of her. "I have your appointment down for eleven, not ten."

"Oh, am I that early," he feigned ignorance as he made a show of checking his watch. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head as he let his shoulders slump in a sign of resignation.

"I'm sorry, miss. I must've just gotten my times mixed up," he was looking at the receptionist again. He gave her another smile but let it quiver towards the end to signal desperation.

"There is no harm in you arriving a bit early...Besides, you're in luck, Mr. Weasley. I believe her morning meeting started early so she should be back at least a little before eleven."

"Perfect," he smiled. _Just perfect,_ he groaned sarcastically to himself.

"You can have a seat until she returns," the receptionist pointed him towards a row of chairs across from her desk, but that wouldn't do. He hadn't initially factored in a receptionist, which was bad form on his part, a rookie mistake really. He chalked it up to leftover effects of drinking. He was definitely too hungover to be clever this early. Ron ran various scenarios through his head for how to get back to Hermione's office unattended and quickly.

The telephone rang and the receptionist answered it with one last smile to Ron before going into her well-rehearsed greeting.

Ron turned to walk towards the chairs. He waited a few minutes before approaching the receptionist's desk again, he wanted to time it for the next time she was distracted by a call. When the moment arrived, he schooled his face into a frown and made his move.

"Pardon me," he said holding up his hands in pleading manner and approaching her desk once more.

"Please hold," she said to whomever was on the line.

"I just got a message from my wife. I guess I should say my soon-to-be ex-wife," he shook his head regretfully. "She just called, some rubbish—I'm sorry, some business about working out when I can see the kids," Ron was taking a gamble that Hermione either told her receptionist he was a potential client or didn't mention the nature of their business at all. When her expression turned sympathetic, he knew he was in the clear.

"Do you think Ms. Granger would mind if I take the call in her office?" Ron tried adding a smile he'd seen his brother Bill use on others to get his way. It always seemed to work out for him. Quite frankly, now that Bill had kids, his appeal was downright frightening. _Course, he is the better-looking Weasley,_ Ron's cheeks twitched at that thought.

"I'm sorry, it's against policy to let anyone into an office unattended," she said firmly.

Ron's mind scrambled for alternative when he heard the women speak again, "But you can use the conference room just down the hall." She waved him off towards the hallway in a hurry to get back to the calls coming in. Ron nodded at her in appreciation and set off towards the direction she pointed him. A smirk formed on his lips as he rethought the usefulness of Weasley charm.

"It's the third one down," the receptionist called out before returning to the waiting calls. Ron threw a receptive nod over his shoulder and kept walking. He had almost reached the door she indicated when he saw a nameplate on the opposite wall that caught his eye. He didn't want to react too hastily so he continued on to his expected destination and turned on the lights. As he slipped through the doorway, he looked back down the hall at the receptionist desk to see if she was looking. Sure enough, she had eyed him entering the room to confirm where he went, but in the next moment her face was buried in her computer screen and Ron saw her lips moving as she spoke to whomever was on the phone.

Looking from left to right, Ron saw that the coast was clear and walked briskly over to Hermione's office door. He gently turned the handle hoping against hope it was not locked, and to his surprise it was not. Quickly throwing himself into the dark room and shutting the door as quietly as possible, Ron slumped against the adjacent wall and let out a breath he had been unconsciously holding since he saw her nameplate on the wall.

He was relieved to see the blinds were closed to the hallway and flipped on the lights and looked around the room. _Cozy,_ was the first word that came to Ron's mind. The warm colors reminded him of what he had seen at her house, but this seemed more lived in. There were books littering practically every surface. Most seemed well-worn. A small sofa at the back of the office had a blanket draped across it. Ron smiled at the thought of Hermione working late into the night at her own office and falling asleep on the sofa reading law books. _We're not so different after all...except for the falling asleep reading part,_ he rolled his eyes at himself and leafed through some of the books currently laid about her sofa.

An image on the bookshelf behind her desk caught his attention. He walked over to it and saw that the picture was one of her standing to the side looking warmly at two people that could easily be described as two different versions of Hermione. Her parents. His limited research during the prior week had revealed that her parents were both dentists. He imagined they would look stuffier, more boring...maybe it was a bias from personal experience, but the people in this photo looked full of life and jovial. They were standing in front of an old farmhouse, dressed in proper countryside attire, complete with matching Wellies. The woman who was standing nearest to Hermione had her head thrown back in the fit of laughter as if she had just heard the greatest joke. Ron assumed her laughter was directed at the man whose face was lit up in both amusement and terror as a large sheepdog was jumping on him. The corners of Ron's mouth curved up slightly as he took in the image.

The sound of a nearby door slamming broke Ron from his reverie. He looked at the clock on the desk and swore under his breath at the realisation that he had wasted nearly half an hour, between having to charm his way into the office and looking through her personal effects.

He turned back to his real task and began scanning the office for any place that looked as though it could hold a file. It was possible she kept all of her files electronically, but based on her observed fondness for handwritten notes, Ron had made a wager to himself that she probably kept hard copies of her case files. He was no hacker, so if he was wrong this whole scheme would be all for naught. _Nothing ventured, nothing gained_ , he repeated to himself while he rolled his shoulders and started by checking the drawer nearest to him. Finding it locked, he pulled out his lock pickers set to work.

Fifteen minutes later and down to the last three drawers, tiny prickles of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Hearing the tell-tale click of the drawer he pulled it open and began thumbing through the files. He almost gave up hope on this drawer when he saw a name similar to the one he was looking for...Chang/Hunt _. Maybe that's why it wasn't on my list of names?_ his mind ran through the information she had given him and he seemed to remember a Chang. She had labelled the file based on her client's maiden name—or maybe the woman had never changed it. Still, he thought it was odd she never mentioned the woman's spouse by his last name.

He heard another door slam and feeling crunched for time before Hermione arrived, he took out a small digital camera and began to take photos of the file. The last item in the file was a picture of a blonde man with a nose that some would describe as aristocratic but Ron simply thought it was too sharp. The man's eyes were beady and his smile was smug. The woman didn't seem smug at all. In fact, her entire countenance seemed kind. Something about her seemed familiar. Ron smirked at the idea that opposites attract. He finished snapping a picture of their family portrait. Turning it over he took a picture of the back, which read _Grayson and Cho Hunt._

Throwing the picture back in the file, he quickly closed the it and placed it back where he found it. As with the other drawers, he locked them again to make sure nothing would seem out of place. Right at that moment, he heard a familiar voice in the hallway and stood up straight like a rabbit caught in headlights. He hadn't left himself enough time to get back to where he was supposed to be and he struggled to think of how to explain why he was in her office. Running off of adrenaline his mind prodded him to at least make his way around to the visitor side of her desk, which faced away from the office door. No sooner did he reach the other side her desk, then he heard the sound of the door opening and a surprised gasp.

"Can I help you?" Hermione's voice asked from behind him. Ron turned to see her standing in the door frame to her office with her eyebrows raised and her mouth slightly agape. Her head was tilted up, most likely from looking at the open file in her hands.

"Ron!" her eyes widened briefly, but was swiftly replaced by a creased brow. "What are you doing here already?" she asked in a voice probably a little more shrill than she intended. She flipped over the wrist of her hand holding the file to check her watch. "Am I running late—"

"No, I'm just a bit early...I take it your receptionist didn't tell you I was waiting," she didn't seem to notice the relieved edge to his voice.

"No, she's not at her desk at the moment," Hermione frowned and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm surprised she let you in here on your own."

"I was in the area. Thought I would pop in to see if you were available early," Ron returned in a nonchalant tone.

He straightened up in the chair and faced forward as she walked passed him to get to her chair. Taking her seat she threw the file she was carrying on her desk and looked up at him.

"Well, my apologies for not being available earlier," she crossed her arms over her chest again and leaned her head slightly to the side. Ron's eyes darted quickly to the file cabinet he had forced open only minutes earlier to double check that it was closed, before looking back at her. Her eyes were steady on him the entire time, but she hadn't followed his gaze.

"Well, go on. Get started."

"Er...I'm not sure what you mean—"

"The case, Ron. Give me an update on the case. _That_ is why you are here, isn't it?"

"Right. I...er…," he swallowed thickly he hadn't really thought this part of the conversation through too well. He fumbled for his notepad, remembering that he had at least written down some notes prior to his weekend binge. After he found it, he flipped through the pages and skimmed them over until he found a few points he could tell her. All the while her attention on him remained constant. "Right, I've gone over the the list I requested, compared it to the research you already had…," Ron continued on about what he had learned about the list of suspects not perceiving the scowl growing on Hermione's face. He was surprised by her silence. After what felt like a long time, Ron stopped to make sure she was still following along and finally noticed her glare.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

" _That_ is all you have?" her voice was calm but there was a steel edge to it.

" _All_ I have? That's a lot of bloody work!"

"You're right it is. I should know, seeing as it is everything I gave you," She maintained the same deadly calm voice but Ron was starting to sweat from the intensity of her stare. He was pretty sure she hadn't blinked in a minute.

"Yeah, well getting through what you gave me was a job in itself," he replied flippantly. "I've spent most of my time clearing people as suspects. It's not my fault the leads you gave my have been fruitless."

Her eyes widened at that statement and she took in a sharp breath and didn't let it go immediately. When she finally breathed out slowly, eyes narrowed."Find new ones then. Your a detective, isn't it your job to detect?" She asked pointedly.

"S'not so simple, I needed to clear the obviously innocent, but please trust that I am looking for new leads," Ron responded in a calmer tone, hoping to defuse whatever standoff he had just created. A part of him worried he miscalculated with his earlier words and that she may even fire him. He wondered if he should divulge his current lead, but his gut told him to wait a bit longer. Hermione let out a huff through her nose and Ron caught a subtle eye roll thrown his direction.

"I understand Mr. Weasley," her tone was polite and businesslike. "I'm sure you are a busy man and can't devote all of your attention to my case."

"Well, no—"

"No, no," she held up her hands to stop him. "No need to explain. I trust you will pursue this case as you see fit. You are the expert in this area after all."

"Thank you," he accepted her words cautiously, but an uneasy feeling settled over him. Before it could fully take shape though, he did remember something relevant. Flipping through his notes, he scanned his indecipherable short-hand until he came upon the question he had contacted her about the prior week.

"If that's all you have to update, then I'm sorry to have wasted your time today," Hermione gave him a quick formal smile and then turned her attention to the documents on her desk.

"Actually, I did have another reason to visit," he quickly replied. Hermione looked back up at him.

"The flower delivery service," he said.

"Yes...what about it?" she asked.

"I've been waiting on that information from you for almost a week. I thought it might be easier to get it while I'm here in person."

"Oh...oh! I can't believe I'd forgotten to get that to you. Let me just check here…," she trailed off as she picked up what appeared to be her work bag and riffled through papers. "Ah ha, I knew I had this somewhere. I had Ms. Rhys, our receptionist, look into this last week, but I'm afraid I forgot to pass it along," she said while handing him a small square piece of paper with writing on it.

"Bertrand Flowers," Ron read the name off the paper to himself. He saw that there was also a telephone number and address listed on the paper.

"Is that all you need then?" Hermione asked, looking eager to be rid of him. Ron opened his mouth to respond, but shut it quickly and decided to just nod his head yes and leave with the information he had already gathered.

He was half-way out of his seat when he remembered one last thing. "Did you ever call that contact I sent you?" he asked. His question broke Hermione's renewed concentration and she looked up at him once again confused.

"The one for your personal protection," he said after clearing his throat and standing at his full height.

"Oh, _that_ contact," she said shuffling the papers in front of her with more concentration than necessary. "No, I...erm...I haven't had time."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows slightly and frowned. "You haven't had time to call someone about protecting yourself?" he asked quietly, almost to himself.

"Well! I am a busy person as well," Hermione scoffed at is insinuation.

"Too busy to protect your own life?"

She silently placed her palms on her desk and pushed herself up out of her own seat, causing the chair to roll back slightly. "Isn't that what I hired you for?" she said with a tense smile. "If you care so much about my life, why aren't you trying harder to solve my case faster?" she continued. The ferocity in her eyes made up for the notable height difference Ron maintained even now that she was standing.

"S'not the point!"

"It is the exact point!" she countered before he could finish. "Really, if this is how you always conduct your business, no wonder it's—"

Ron flinched at the thought of where her words were going, but she had stopped herself.

"Besides, why do you care if I don't?" her voice cracked slightly. She pressed a hand to her forehead and smoothed it over the top of her hair. The blazing look in her eyes from just a moment earlier was replaced by a weary one.

"I suppose you'll miss losing a paying client," she added rather dully.

Ron looked down at her and wasn't sure how to respond. He still felt he couldn't reveal what he was working on, but the guilt from his wasted weekend was beginning to overwhelm his better judgement. "I—"

At that very moment, Ron's stomach took the opportunity to loudly introduce itself. Ron made a quick attempt to cover it with one of his large hands and looked up to see if she noticed. Hermione was staring back at him. Both of their faces blank waiting for the other to say something. Hermione was the first to break her stony expression into a grin. Ron felt his own cheeks tugging upward and he knew resisting the laugh building inside him would be futile. He made a few closed mouth chuckles and that finally caused her self-control to break. She tilted back in her chair holding her sides as her laughter caused her whole body to shake.

After a minute of uninterrupted laughing, Hermione spoke first, "I've got to...I've got to stop. It's starting to hurt." she said as she let out a laboured sigh. She took several deep breaths and managed to calm herself, although small trickles of laughter still made their way out of her mouth. She smiled lazily at Ron. Her eyes framed by the slightest laugh lines and once again Ron found himself admiring their color.

Realising he may be gawking, Ron cleared his throat and broke the silence, "Er...have you had lunch yet?"

"No," she replied almost as soon as the question left his lips.

"Would you care to grab a bite with me?" Ron asked, with unexpected fluttering in his stomach momentarily replacing the feeling of hunger. "That is, if you're not busy," he shuffled a bit uncomfortably on his feet.

Her eyes, which had up until then been locked on his, dropped back down to the documents spread out on her desk. She lightly pushed one of the files with her fingers.

"I am famished now that you mention it." She finally replied, as she tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.

"Great, I happen to know a place not too far."

Hermione grabbed a small black bag and made her way towards the door. "Let me just check with Ms. Rhys that I don't have any conflicts," she added as she held the door open for him.

Ron followed her, standing back slightly when she reached the receptionist. Hermione whispered a few quick words to the woman, and Ron was just far away enough that he couldn't hear. He saw the woman peer around Hermione to look at him. What he wasn't expecting was for her lips to slowly spread into a Cheshire cat-like grin that reminded him of one of his twin brother's smiles right before one of their pranks went off successfully. The change in expression made Ron's arm hair stand on end and he was pretty sure he felt his body shudder. She turned back to Hermione and he could see them exchange a few more hushed whispers back and forth.

A few seconds later, Hermione turned back toward him with a decidedly warmer tint to her cheeks and moved towards the lift.

"Enjoy the _lunch,_ dear!" Ron heard the old woman call to Hermione over their shoulders. He chanced a peek back in her direction and wasn't entirely sure but could've sworn that she gave him a wink. Turning his eyes back toward the front, he clutched a hand to the back of his neck and shook off his confusion.

—

When they arrived in front of the restaurant, suffice it to say Hermione looked skeptical. Her eyebrows were nearly at her hairline and her lips were so pursed she looked as if she just ate a lemon. Ron had expected as much. From first look, the place did seem a bit rundown on the outside. The signage in the window was a bit old and dingy, and the door had tinting on it that made it seem more than a little dodgy.

"Before you object," he put his hands up in anticipation. "Just trust me," he said gently grabbing her elbow and urging her toward the door.

"I'm not sure I know you well enough for this amount of trust," she said with a straight face but her tone was more amused.

Ron held the door open with his free hand and Hermione entered slowly. He saw her eyes dart around the interior and she let out a small surprised 'hmm.' The inside wasn't posh like most trendy places nearby, but it wasn't exactly a dive either. Instead, it was quaint, like something you would legitimately find in the country.

Ron realised he still had his hand on Hermione's elbow, and he quickly let it go, causing her to turn her attention back to him. Ron held out a hand and nodded in the direction of an empty table by the window. "We seat ourselves," he said in response to her confused expression.

"Oh," she mouthed and moved towards the table.

"This is the best one," he commented casually as he pulled out a chair to sit.

"Come here often?" she eyed him curiously.

"Not really," was all he replied just before the waiter approached them.

After a few minutes where they looked over the menus and placed their orders, Ron and Hermione fell into a comfortable silence that was broken here and there by the odd polite question. It wasn't until their food arrived that the polite rhythm was broken.

Ron had set off pretty quickly into eating his own food and had dropped even the smallest form of interaction. When he looked up from his plate, he noticed that Hermione was studying him intently instead of eating her own food. She pushed around some pieces of food and took the occasional bite, but more of her attention was on him.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head and adjusted herself as she switched her attention to her own plate. "No, it's nothing," she said quickly as she began eating her own food with more fervour than Ron guessed was natural for her.

Realising he was nearly done with his own food and she had barely started he let out a short chuckle. "Growing up with five older brothers, you could say I usually had to act fast to get in my fair share."

She gave a small appreciative smile. Ron wasn't sure his appetite is what had been bothering her, but the distraction seemed welcome.

"I've never been here before," she said looking around the place.

Ron gave a gruff chuckle as he continued to dig into what was left of his food, but much slower this time.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "It's just doesn't surprise me."

"Really, because you know me so well?" she narrowed her eyes. Ron shrugged in response and took another bite of food.

"Let me guess you think I'm too boring to have friends or a life?" she said dryly.

"Not at all," he answered simply.

Hermione continued to look at him expectantly. Taking the hint that she wasn't going to let this go, Ron set down his silverware and leaned back in his chair. "I may not have gone to _Cambridge,_ " he gave her a pointed look. "Or any university for that matter, but I'm not blind, am I? One of the first things you showed me was a bleeding picture taken by your stalker of you with friends."

Her eyes twitched in acknowledgement of his point. Ron thought he almost saw a slight smile.

"Then, of course, there's the fact that you dated an international party boy."

"Part—party boy! He wasn't really—he was...he was actually quite sweet...and...and very brilliant! You know you really shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, Ronald."

Ron flinched at the use of his given name. "I don't doubt what you just said. You don't strike me as someone who would settle for less," he said sincerely. "Besides that comment wasn't meant to be a judgment on you, just more a reflection of the fact that you have clearly lived a life full of people. So no, I don't think you haven't been here because your too boring."

Hermione considered his comments for a moment before picking up her own fork to start eating again. After a few quiet minutes where she ate and Ron looked out at the people walking about, she cleared her throat to speak, "You know, this is the second time this has happened."

"What's that?" he asked as she drew his attention back to their table.

"It's just last time we were together, I was prattling on about being teased in school...and just now I assumed you were going to say I was boring just like all those girls in school used to tease me about. I probably seem like someone still stuck on their childhood insecurities," Hermione shook her head at herself after her last statement and avoided eye contact.

"We're all probably a bit worse off from something in our childhood years, yeah? Besides, kids are bloody mean."

"That they are," she nodded in agreement. "That was very perceptive of you."

"You can thank the Met for that. Mandatory sensitivity training," he added casually.

"Oh," she responded before laughing heartily. Ron was confused, but decided it was best to laugh along.

"I think I would have like you," Hermione said while her laughter died down. "As a friend, I meant—in school," she clarified swiftly.

"Nah, you probably would've hated me," he said thoughtfully.

"Why would you say that?"

"Nothing bad...Just remember that last time I made a bad joke at your expense? Let's just say if you think my jokes have bad timing now, I was probably worse growing up. Like I said before, I was a bit daft," he gave a weak grin.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Hermione said gently, resting a hand on the table near one of Ron's. "I could've used more laughter growing up. Even if they were just bad jokes," her words made his skin prickle.

"You still never fully explained your comment about not being surprised I've never been here," she spoke again after a second, catching Ron by surprise.

"You just seem too...too dedicated." _That was a good neutral word for it,_ he thought before continuing. "You finished your primary and secondary education early—"

"I see you've done your research," she eyed him shrewdly, but her tone was lighthearted. "That didn't really make me popular with other kids, mind you."

"It just gave you more time to study. Besides you probably didn't need to hang around with any troublemakers," he countered.

"Good point. Is that what you were? A troublemaker?"

"I had my fair share of run-ins with my Headmaster," he said quickly trying to move off the subject, but not before catching her giving him a cheeky smile.

"As I was saying, you started post-secondary education early. Became the youngest graduate of Cambridge Faculty of Law. You started out as a solicitor at one of London's most prestigious litigation firms but quit just before making partner—and at quite a young age I might add—to go work at a firm dealing with family law," he tilted his head and smirked. "Course the clients there aren't exactly commoners."

Hermione shot him an unamused look. "Are you quite done—"

"Not in the slightest," Ron bit back a laugh at her irritation. "You volunteer at a number of organisations supporting women and girls, and...well, I could go on, but judging by the look on your face, you might murder me.

"Thank you," she replied in a pleased tone. "But was there a point to listing my accomplishments? Are you trying to prove the research you've been doing?"

"Well that information took me just a few hours to find out," she seemed surprised at his admission. "Scary what you can find out on the internet. No, the point was to say that all of my information on you has led me to believe that despite having friends, you are a person with very little time for indulging in the trivial side of life. I suspect you probably pack your lunch most days and eat at your desk while working. Maybe you venture out at the request of a client or a colleague, but I also doubt they are the type of people who would choose a seemingly rundown restaurant over the poshest new joint."

"Have you noticed the other diners here today?" Ron's question seemed to startle her as she was lost in some thought. "They are mostly working-class, the people who take your calls or clean the buildings you work in."

Hermione looked around the restaurant and nodded her head slowly after a moment. "You're probably right. It really is a lovely place, but the people I work with would never set foot in here...Maybe I should come more often."

Ron gave a single chuckle at her joke. "Good, Rosmerta could use some new business."

"Rosmerta?"

"The owner."

"So you do come here often!" Hermione wagged a finger at Ron triumphantly. "First name-basis, huh?"

"My stomach has afforded me many opportunities to sample the finest London has to offer and this is near the top," Ron responded diplomatically, yet evasively.

Hermione bit one corner of her bottom lip, which only half hid an impish smile that was forming. Ron admired this new look on her face. In their limited interactions, he had not seen her smile like this before, and it made his heartbeat race just a little.

Hermione's mouth opened like she was about to speak when her mobile rang from inside her bag. She looked in the bag for a moment before pulling out one of those new smartphone models and peered at the screen. She groaned at the recognition of who was calling her and put her hand up to signal she needed to excuse herself for a minute. Swiping a finger to accept her call, she rose up from her seat and set her napkin on the table.

"Yes, Martin, before you say anything I know—yes, I know, the meeting starts in twenty minutes…," her voice faded off as she walked to the door of the restaurant and headed outside. Ron could see her just outside the window. Her free hand was gesticulating wildly when her arm wasn't crossed in front of her chest. She paced back and forth, occasionally turning towards the windows. On one such turn, she ran her hand from her forehead to the top of her head. This was the most openly frazzled he had seen her in their few interactions. She caught sight of him watching her and the corners of her mouth actually picked up a little. She dropped the hand from her head and pointed at her mobile and then proceeded to roll her eyes up towards the sky. Ron returned a sympathetic nod.

When the waiter passed by, he caught their attention and signaled for the check, realising that Hermione would probably need to leave soon. He pulled out his own mobile while he waited to see if he had missed any calls. Sure enough he had two missed calls. One from his police informant, Quinn. Ron made another mental note to call her back as soon as possible, hoping she had something interesting to tell him on Hermione's sealed police file. He started to scroll on his mobile to look at the second missed call when a voice broke his concentration.

"I apologise for that interruption," Hermione said in a genuinely regretful tone. "It appears this lunch was more enjoy—entertaining than I realised. I'm afraid I'm late for a meeting...well, really it's a pre-meeting."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her last word.

"Oh, you know a meeting before the main meeting," she clarified.

"I figured that bit on my own," Ron replied with a straight face. "I just don't envy you, or any of these corporate sods," he gestured toward the suited people walking the pavement just outside of the window. Hermione scowled and it took Ron a moment to recall his choice of words. "Sorry, I forget myself sometimes...and I didn't mean that they're all—I mean I certainly don't think you're a—you know I'm used to working with blokes...and ladies...a little more rough around the edges. Sometimes I feel like Eliza Doolittle out here in the corporate world. One of the things I never liked about it."

Hermione's scowl deepened but this time she let out a snort. "Did you just make a reference to My Fair Lady? You hardly strike me as the musical type."

"Ho, ho! Is that a tone of surprise I hear?" he fluffed his jacket and feigned indignation. "Remember Ms. Granger," he started pompously. "We must never judge a book by its cover."

Hermione gave him a mock scathing look. "You've got me there, _Ronald_."

"Please stop," he shook his head fervently. "Only my Great Aunt calls me Ronald. She's a nightmare."

"She sounds lovely. Wish I could meet her," Hermione replied with a straight face.

"Trust me, it's best if you didn't."

"I'll take your word on it."

Ron noticed that she had been looking around the restaurant for someone over the last minute and then he remembered the waiter. "I asked for the bill. Figured you needed to leave soon," he informed her.

"Thank you," she beamed at him in appreciation.

"You said 'that's one of the things you didn't like about the corporate world'?" her voice broke a momentary silence that had taken hold, while they waited for the bill.

"Sorry?" Ron asked puzzled.

"Just a moment ago you said 'that's one of the things you didn't like about the corporate world', almost like you have worked there...but I thought—"

"No, I haven't. I meant more something I imagined I wouldn't have liked," he said calmly, but his eyes were looking anywhere but at Hermione. "Probably why I joined the force. That and working with my best mate—"

Ron's words were cut off by the waiter finally returning with the check and after a small battle for who would pick up the tab, Hermione finally won out by noting that she was the reason he was in the area. Ron promised to buy the next one before he could stop himself, but noticed that she didn't recoil at the presumption of another lunch with him.

"You know my _pre-meeting_ isn't even the worst thing about the corporate world," she said while waiting for the waiter to return with her card.

"What do you suppose is the worst?"

"People who reply to the people that accidentally reply all," she had leaned forward and her face was in an animated expression of exasperation that Ron decided he quite liked on her.

"Reckon your on to something there," he nodded appreciatively. The two laughed like old friends sharing an inside joke.

"I must say, it has been a pleasure, Ron," Hermione declared as she stood and prepared to leave. Ron quickly followed.

"That it was," he uttered as she stepped closer to him and extended her hand to him. Ron accepted it, hoping she couldn't feel his heartbeat speeding up once again. They remained this way for just a hair longer than what most would consider polite before she broke away.

Ron immediately missed the warmth of her hand, but his mind was pulled from those thoughts by the light coming from his own mobile.

"It looks like it's your turn," Hermione teased.

"It's probably not important," Ron didn't exactly know that but he was willing to take that bet to extend this moment a bit longer.

"You should answer it, Ron," Hermione crossed her arms and leaned against the table. Ron reluctantly picked up the mobile and finally got a good look at the name calling. _Shite, it was important_ , he hurried to answer the call, slightly fumbling the mobile with his large fingers.

"Mr. Weasley?" a panicked woman's voice asked.

"It's Ethan, isn't it," Ron replied knowingly.

"Ye...yes," her voice trembled.

"Don't do anything. I'm on my way," he added and turned to leave as he hung up. Ron stopped, remembering some form of manners his mum had taught him and swiveled back around quickly to apologise. He caught a brief frown on Hermione's face but she quickly recovered. She immediately nodded her head in understanding and shooed him off towards the door. Ron mouthed a quick thank you and hurried toward the door, assuming Hermione would be close behind so she could get back to work.


	7. Tipped

Chapter Six Tipped

 **A/N: Thank you for the favs, follows, and reviews. Also, a special thank you to my beta ObessedRHshipper who reviewed this for me almost two month ago but then I got cold feet—and then I started changing things so I had to have it re-reviewed.**

 **Also, I just started watching The Expanse, the first season has a good neo noir subplot.**

 **TW: Mentions of substance abuse and a very, very brief (blink and you may miss it) mention of child neglect.**

 _Poor sod,_ Ron thought as he stood up from checking the pulse of the man lying on the ground before him. It was still going strong so he was probably just passed out. He checked for breathing to make sure it was normal and then figured it was best to let the bloke ride out his high. Ron knew from experience that if you interfere to soon, most get ticked off, instead of grateful that you saved their life, and that can lead to them chasing even more dangerous highs.

Ron stepped over the man and continued on his way to the back of the building, but stopped before entering the last room. The smell coming from the room was almost incapacitating. Someone had recently been sick judging by the pungent smell. He pulled his shirt sleeves over his hands and used them to cover his nose and mouth as he scanned the occupants of the room from the doorway. He spotted whom he was looking for almost immediately. Ron swore to himself as he entered the rank room and stepped over a few more blissed-out souls before he reached his target.

Lifting his right foot, he gently shook the boy's body with it. After a few moments of no response, he repeated the action and this time he called the boy's name, "Ethan."

Still no response. "Come on, mate. I know you're awake. I saw you blink your eyes just a moment ago from across the room."

A groan emanated from the body on the ground. "Ron, mate. Good to see you," the boy on the floor croaked.

"Tch! I'm sure you're just so happy I'm here," Ron replied glibly as he bent down to grab the boy by the arm and yanked him up.

"Come on, Ethan. You've got your mum worried sick," Ron chastised him as he guided them towards the exit.

He had been reluctant to take Ethan's case the first time. The boy had been missing for half a year. When his mother had come to Ron, she was desperate. The police officers that his mother had spoken to weren't out of line to tell her the case was cold. He had seen plenty of cases like Ethan's go from missing to dead ends, both figuratively and literally. He'd like to say that it was her friendly manner that had convinced him to keep going past the point of hope, but like always it was the money.

Ron had tried to soften up the boy's mum for the idea that her son was probably already dead somewhere, or so far down the rabbit hole that he would probably never come back. When he found Ethan the first time, unconscious at a rave, Ron's first instinct was to call the boy's mum and let her come and collect him; after all he was only hired to locate him. Ron still to this day wasn't sure what made him change course, but there was something familiar about him. Ron had taken a deep look at the sunken cheeks and dark shadows under the eyes of the unresponsive boy and couldn't shake the images of a happier, healthier version of the teen in the pictures from his mum. That's how he had found himself in the hospital waiting room just a little over a year ago, consoling Ethan's mum as she listened to her son's prognosis of a long recovery.

Since then, Ron had picked Ethan up in this state more times then he could count. Once he had practically beat the piss out of Ethan's dealer for not giving him a location. Ron was certainly lucky that not only did the man not suffer any permanent damage, but he was unlikely to go to the police given his line of business. Ron had also gotten the piss beaten out of himself in the process, but it was worth it.

His search today had ended in record time. Ethan had gone to his regular dealer and Ron had decided a while ago it was easier to make nice with the man because he was relatively easy to deal with and didn't mind giving him information, for a small fee. Once he picked up Ethan, he called ahead to let the boy's mum know they were on the way, so he wasn't surprised when the door opened before he even knocked. Ron was immediately hit by the intoxicating smell of home-cooked food. The combination of the smell and the warm light coming from the interior was so familiar and enticing to Ron. He half-expected a short, round woman with red hair standing at the door with other red-haired children running in the background.

"Ethan!" The woman shouted. She pitched herself forward to catch Ethan who was still shaky on his legs.

"Mum," Ron could just barely hear the boy's words, which were muffled by his mother's shoulder. Ethan's arms remained by his side while his mother continued to crush him like he was a bear cub.

"Thank you," she whispered to Ron through a choked sob as she continued to wrap her son in her arms tightly. She rocked him ever so slightly that the movements were almost unnoticeable. Stepping back from him she sniffled a few more seconds, pressing the back of one hand first to her nose, then to the area just below both of her eyes before smiling weakly at Ron.

"Please, Ron, come inside," she jerked her head towards the door and kept one arm wrapped around Ethan's back for support.

"No, thank you. I've got a bit of work to get to if you can believe it," Ron politely declined the offer. The food did smell good after a long day, but he needed to decompress from his day. An evening at Trudy's would likely result in too many servings of her sticky toffee pudding and dodging questions about his personal life, or lack thereof. It reminded him too much of Sundays at home, the Burrow.

"Here, for the train fare," Trudy said after coming closer and slipping an envelope into his hand. He considered Trudy and Ethan like family now, but still he took the money without hesitation. Ron quickly stuffed the envelope into his pocket, as if that would make him feel less guilty for having to take it. He knew it would cover more than just the train fare.

He watched Trudy fuss over her son for a moment. Ron tried to think of something to say. He wanted to do more, perhaps offer the kid some advice. Sure, sometimes he lacked finesse, but he used to be able to find the right thing to say more often than not. He lost that confidence years ago. Instead, he left with just a simple nod.

—

The next morning, Ron stood looking out his office window down at the narrow brick alleyway. He sipped on a coffee that he had picked up when he went to print the the file he scanned at Hermione's office. The printer in his office had been a luxury he allowed himself, but the ink was expensive, which made the printer the first thing to go dormant when things were tight. Moving back to his desk, he plopped down with a heavy sigh and rubbed his brow to increase concentration. He picked up the still warm printed pages and began to read.

Hermione's first notes on Grayson and Cho Hunt indicated it was nothing more than the clichéd falling out between two people. Accusations of distance, neglect, and cheating. Cho Hunt, née Chang, had accused her husband of infidelity and was seeking to terminate their union. She wanted to be the resident parent but was not seeking to restrict his parental responsibilities, and she wanted to split all assets acquired since marriage. _Seems reasonable_ , Ron thought. The couple was definitely more comfortable than most, but not nearly as wealthy as most of Hermione's other clients.

Speaking of Hermione, she had taken action to try to speed up the procedures. This was not something that was easy to do, but she had made it work. Ron had just finished reading an entry on date and time for a meeting with Mr. Hunt and his solicitor and it seemed that things were proceeding without the need for a drawn-out court battle. Evidence of infidelity had been obtained and and several close acquaintances of the couple agreed that the marriage did not seem salvageable. The divorce had been continuing along smoothly. The meetings between the two parties had been cordial if not strangely void of the normal emotions on Mr. Hunt's side as Hermione had mentioned in one of her notes. So Ron nearly did a double take at the rushed sloppy words written on the next page. It was in contrast to the normal cursive and orderly style that Ron had come to expect from Hermione.

 _Cho failed to show up at her appointment today. I called to follow-up, and she answered but excused herself almost immediately. I received a notice this afternoon from Mr. Hunt's solicitor that he will be applying for sole parental responsibility (see file)._

Ron picked up the remaining pages he had printed off earlier that day and hurriedly shuffled through them, looking for the notice Hermione had mentioned. When he reached the second to last document, he quickly laid the rest of the pages down.

The notice was a statement Mr. Hunt was preparing to file claiming that Cho had a drinking problem since the birth of their last child and that had led her to become neglectful of their children. The notice referred to an attachment of accounts from not only Mr. Hunt but also acquaintances of the couple that would be attesting to Mrs. Hunt's erratic behaviour. The attachment hadn't been in the papers that Ron copied. He thought it was odd, but not unheard of for things like this to surface in the middle of mediation. _Maybe this Hunt bloke had wanted to work things out, or maybe he was trying to protect the children from a nasty divorce battle...or maybe he was trying to blackmail her_ , his mind supplied more cynically at the end.

Hermione's handwriting became progressively sloppier in her next few entries.

 _It's been two weeks and I have been unable to reach Cho. I've considered a welfare check, but that may be extreme at this point._

The next few pages were similar until he reached the final page of the file. Ron noted only one entry written at least a month after the last time.

 _An agreement has been reached. Both Cho and Grayson Hunt will maintain their parental responsibilities and all assets prior to marriage. Any assets obtained since marriage, except those obtained in connection with Mr. Hunt's firm, Hunt & Associates, will be split evenly. Mr. Hunt will retain sole rights to Hunt & Associates and its assets._

Ron mumbled aloud as he read along and sipped on his mostly forgotten coffee. He thought back to the words Hermione's ex had made about the change in her mood on this case. She had gone from confident to pessimistic seemingly overnight, and had taken things so personally. He also remembered how the man had indicated a surprising reversal in the outcome of the case. He continued reading.

 _Child maintenance will be paid to Cho in the amount of 100 pounds a week._

"Pfft," Ron sprayed some coffee in disbelief. _100 pounds a week_? _Seems a bit low for someone who makes around 200,000 pounds a year_ , he thought. Reaching the end of the file, Ron sat the papers down and opened up his laptop. Years ago he imagined that what he was about to do would have required a fair amount of wading through binned garbage. Not that Ron was above looking through a bin or two now, but luckily that was a rare occurrence.

From what he could gather online, the formerly married Hunts were pretty much as night and day as he could imagine. She was an artist, that much he had gathered from Hermione's file. Her online life was littered with images of gallery events and museum tours. She didn't appear to be exactly world-renowned, but she did have some fame within the London circle. Ron could see why she was doing so well; her work was intriguing. One particular piece focused on the image of a young man, who couldn't have been more than twenty. His facial expression was gentle yet haunted at the same moment. It was nothing more than a simple portrait but the eyes were a hypnotic gray. He was certainly not Grayson Hunt. Ron wondered who he was to Cho. Someone she knew, a friend, or former lover perhaps. If he was, he was definitely someone from her past because he showed up in none of the more recent photos of her online.

Grayson Hunt, on the other hand, appeared to be nothing more than a dull number cruncher. Ron had learned from Hermione's file that he owned his own accounting firm, but he wasn't exactly doing work for companies on the London Stock Exchange. Ron almost fell asleep after reading accounting articles published under the man's name. None of his limited social media indicated he was anything special. Where Cho's online life was full of friends, family, and even a few adorable photos of her children, Granyson's was sterile and business only. The few pictures Ron could find echoed that same smugness from the first photo he saw of the man in Hermione's file. Ron marvelled at how someone so unremarkable could look so arrogant.

A quick search of the two people's younger years didn't turn up much. At least for Cho, there were a few archived articles of awards she'd won for art during her secondary school years. Nothing popped up on Grayson, not sports or academic. _Perfectly unremarkable_ , he thought.

By the time Ron had given up his research for the day, it was nearly time for supper. Sitting up straight and stretching he felt the joints crack in his back and neck. The sound was sickening but the immediate warming sensation was euphoric.

— 

Ron walked back to his office, precariously balancing a takeaway bag in one arm so he could search for the office key in the pocket of his jeans as he neared the door. He felt the tips of his fingers brush against the metal, when a voice called out to him from the shadows.

"Need a hand, Weasley—"

"Oh shite," Ron yelped. His body jerked unexpectedly at the sound causing him to nearly lose control of the bag he was holding.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's just me," the voice added with amusement. Ron turned his head quickly to each side to identify the source of the sound. When he saw the woman the voice belonged to push off of the wall opposite of where he stood now, he was a bit shocked he hadn't seen her standing there before, but she had been slightly shrouded in darkness.

"Fuck sake, Quinn. You nearly scared the pants off me," Ron said throwing his head back in an exaggerated motion of relief. He finally fished out his keys and in one swift motion inserted it into the door, twisted the lock, and pushed the door open.

"Clearly I didn't," she retorted, as she brushed past Ron on her way into his office and grabbed the takeaway out of his arm. "Wish I had," she threw back at him over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked. He remained by the now open door for a few more seconds before closing it, but made no move to go to his desk.

"Do I need a reason to visit a friend?" she returned. She set the bag of takeaway down and unceremoniously began taking out the food. "Mmm...dumplings, my favourite," she hummed to herself, still not taking notice of Ron's subdued reception. "Looks like you bought enough to feed an entire regiment."

"Please help yourself," Ron deadpanned.

"You called me for a favour remember? Besides, I rarely ever bother you, do I?" she turned and looked him over intently while waiting for an answer.

Ron couldn't deny that Quinn was usually pretty hands off when it came to helping him, which was why he called her in the first place.

"Now are you going to come over here and eat with me?" she asked. "You must be hungry to buy all this for yourself. Come on then. I'll fill you in on the information you requested while we eat."

Ron scratched his head and snorted, but couldn't help a small smile at his former associate... _No, friend_ , he corrected himself. Ron crossed the room and took up the carton she handed to him before sitting. He tucked into his food, closing his eyes with the first bite. He'd almost forgotten his hunger. He quickly took another bite.

"How've you been?" Ron asked through mouthfuls of rice.

"Working," her response may have seemed glib to some, but Ron knew her meaning. "I've been doing more undercover. Trying to bust some trafficking rings. It's nasty business," she went on but Ron noted an edge to her voice. "Tell you what. I don't like the way we go about it either. Sometimes we treat the bloody victims worse than the criminals."

Ron grunted in agreement.

"How's Harry doing at work?" he asked

"Don't you know? I thought you two still hung out regularly," Quinn replied.

"Yeah, but we rarely talk about work. I think Harry doesn't want me to worry about him. You know how he's always off trying to save the world?" Ron asked, expecting swift agreement. Instead, she scoffed so loudly he nearly startled.

"What?" Ron asked confused.

"You know Harry complains about _you_ being self-sacrificing?" Ron blanched at her words and started to protest, but Quinn cut him off. "Honestly, you both have some martyr agenda. Just different motivations the way I see it."

"How so?"

"Well, Harry is all about the greater good, but you…," she thought for a moment while chewing on food. "You're more about personal causes."

Ron shifted a bit in his seat.

"Don't worry," she flashed a cheeky grin. "I didn't come here to read you the riot act for being a stubborn git who won't share with the rest of the class or keep in touch," her tone was conversational, but Ron couldn't miss the roll of her eyes. "No, I just slogged my arse all out of the way to deliver information you requested," she added pointedly.

Ron put a hand up to stop her as he remembered something. "I thought you said it was sealed and you couldn't access it."

"It was, I couldn't, I worked it out, and now you owe me. By the way, you would know all of this already if you ever answered my calls," she added. "And just so you know, I had to flirt shamelessly with Sergeant Bell to get your information because it was restricted access."

"I thought you said you liked him once?" Ron asked.

"No, I said his arse looked good in jeans once, while a group of us were out drinking. Doesn't mean I fancied a conversation with him. He's as engaging as a blank piece of paper. Tell me, will I ever live that statement down?"

"No," Ron answered seriously.

"Git," she retorted but a smile was peeking through her sour expression.

"So what do you have for me?"

"Hold on, Weasley. Negotiations first. As I was saying, you owe me," she fixed him with a sly grin and narrowed eyes.

Ron stared back at her with his own eyes narrowed. Quinn usually never asked for anything so Ron figured he was on the hook. "Out with it. What do you want?"

"Two Saturdays from now. The Leaky. It's my birthday and the team is going to be there—well, the ones I like anyway. Your attendance is now mandatory after this favour."

Ron rolled his head back and groaned. "Can't I just pay you?"

"Please, like you could afford it," she fished out a crumpled piece of paper from her trouser pocket and threw it towards him. "I almost forgot this had been taped on your door when I arrived."

Ron picked up the paper and unfolded it to see a past due notice from the building owner. He managed to crumple the paper up again and tried to lob it into the bin, but it bounced off the edge. Both Ron and his guest snorted at this last action, though hers was in amusement and his was in incredulity.

"You know if you needed—"

"I know and it's not needed," he quickly cut her off.

Quinn shook her head and smiled to herself. "So, my payment terms?"

"I'll be there, now spill it."

"Righto!" she smiled sweetly as if she hadn't just twisted his arm. Reaching into the bag she had carried with her, she pulled out several documents and tossed them on the desk in front of him. "Read it for yourself. You're going to love this."

Ron snatched up the file, still a little incredulous about the deal she snaked out of him, and thumbed through the thin file with one hand while he ate. Quinn had an eager expression on her face as she watched him read.

Trying to ignore her looks, Ron squinted his eyes to focus on the words in front of him. The first page of the file went over Hermione's information and the complaint. It seemed to line up with what she had told him. The problem was there wasn't much else. The only statement was a small note that Hermione had withdrawn her complaint about a week after making it. There was no evidence that anything had even been investigated. He hadn't expected much given what Hermione said happened with the investigation, but this was ridiculous. _She never said she withdrew the complaint_ , Ron pondered if that had just been a misstatement on her part. _Although, she never said she hadn't, just that the investigation had been botched._

"Where's the rest?" Ron asked.

"That's it," Quinn replied still smirking with anticipation

"That's it?" Ron was confused. "You came all the way to give me this?"

"Look at the investigating officer," she retorted.

Ron quickly looked back through it. He skimmed the pages for the name of the officers involved. He saw that a Sergeant Williams was the initial one to take her case but then it appears the case was reassigned to a detective just a couple of days later. It only took him a moment to recognise the name.

"Cormac bleeding McLaggen!" Ron screeched.

Quinn smirked even deeper at Ron's reaction.

"The same Cormac McLaggen that nearly brought our unit down in disgrace after mishandling the Borgin case?" Ron shouted skeptically.

"Yes, the man, the myth, the legend," Quinn said in a mockingly throaty pitch.

"In his own mind, maybe," Ron grumbled.

"I just can't believe they still let him speak to the public," Quinn added with a shrug of her shoulders before popping a dumpling into her mouth.

Ron sat back for a moment as he thought through everything he had just read.

"This whole thing is a bit wonky, innit?" he said after a minute.

"How so?" Quinn inquired.

"There's not really much here. Says she withdrew her complaint. I doubt this file would've raised any suspicion. To go through the trouble of getting this information restricted, it doesn't sit right with me."

Quinn nodded at him in silent agreement.

"True, unless your client would have filed a complaint," Quinn said.

"Not likely, besides, restricting access to the file wouldn't have stopped an investigation if a complaint was filed. So, why go through all the trouble to hide it? How would he have gotten the file restricted?"

"It's like I said earlier, how is he still allowed to carry on police business after everything he's mucked up? He's obviously got friends in high places," Quinn responded.

They both sat in silence trying to think of something.

"The last logical option is that he was just trying to keep it from someone who only had access to general searches." Quinn spoke up after a minute.

"Yeah, if I remember right, the general searches only produce the case number." Ron added. "Maybe—"

"Maybe he was worried about someone at our level finding it," Quinn finished his thought. Ron decided not to correct her use of the word _our_.

"But who would do that?" he puzzled out loud.

Quinn shot him an amused look.

"Er...besides us...you know what I meant," he rolled his eyes.

"Well, he does have a reputation. I wouldn't be surprised if someone on the team is watching him to make sure he behaves. Did he try something inappropriate with your client?" she tilted her head to the side and looked at him knowingly.

"From what she's told me, yes," Ron's face darkened as he thought back to Herminone's words about what happened.

"Hmm…is she pretty?" Quinn had leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk, clasping her hands in anticipation.

"What kind of question is that?" Ron deflected her.

"I'm just remembering that you two have similar tastes, so I thought—"

"Now that was uncalled for," Ron sulked a bit at those words. Being compared to a clot like McLaggen was an affront never to be taken lightly. Ron figured the man wasn't a complete idiot, after all he had passed all the same exams as himself and Harry, but he was utterly inept. It had become quite the inside joke that he had to have bribed someone to make it through training after violating every conduct rule on the books.

They sat there for a few seconds. Quinn smiled knowingly at him and Ron looked confusingly at her. He knew Quinn well and that she was waiting for an opening.

"All right, go ahead and take the mickey out of me," Ron gave in.

"I'm offended. I would never take the mickey out of you. Would I?" her fake indignation was barely sustainable as she appeared to be struggling not to laugh.

"I just can't remember ever liking anyone that Neanderthal would want?"

"First off, nice word choice," Quinn said with an impressed looked. "Second, just because he's a pig doesn't mean he can't have good taste. Please don't tell me you've forgotten the blonde."

"The blonde?" Ron asked genuinely confused.

"The blonde!"

"Your going to have to be more specific," Ron shrugged his shoulders. "I've dated more than one blonde."

"Oh, what was her name...erm...Lilac—"

"I've definitely never had a thing with a Lilac," Ron said with a snort.

"It's a perfectly lovely name, but you're right that's not it," Quinn conceded.

Ron rolled his eyes at her.

"Lavender!" Quinn shouted after thinking for a moment. "The one who used to do the sketch work for our unit."

Ron nodded his head slowly. _Lavender_. He hadn't thought about her in a long time. She had been bubbly, fun, and beautiful but they had definitely not been right for each other. And then there was that awful nickname she used to tease him. _Won won_ , he groaned internally just thinking of it. She called him that jokingly in front of his entire team once and much to his chagrin it stuck. It had taken months and many threats of violence to get his fellow officers to never mention the nickname again. Ron knew Lavender had a habit of picking the wrong guys, himself included he often thought, but he hoped she hadn't fallen prey to the biggest prat at the Met.

"Surely, she never went with that arsehole," Ron finally said.

"No, but it wasn't for a lack of trying on his part." Quinn replied. "Everyone warned her off him, thankfully. It was when you were...when you were undercover—you know I...never mind." Quinn chewed the bottom of her lip. Ron knew it was a sign that she felt she had gone too far. For old times sake, he decided to throw her life line.

"So is there anything else I have in common with McLaggen?" Ron asked.

"Bossiness," Quinn stated firmly.

"Come again."

"You both have a thing for bossy birds," Quinn said matter of factly.

"That's a bit sexist, innit?" Ron said.

"Probably," Quinn conceded. "Unless it's true."

Ron ignored her.

"So, is she?" Quinn asked.

"I don't know, maybe she's a little...I'd say assertive," he answered. The room was getting warmer and Ron knew given the time of the year it definitely wasn't the boiler. He shifted slightly in his chair.

"I've only had a few interactions with her. Besides, I just doubt your assessment about my taste in women is true," Ron continued.

"Why is that?"

"You're the bossiest bird I know and I've got nothing," Ron gestured between the two of them.

Quinn quickly picked up a scrap of paper from his desk and threw it at him. "You cheeky bastard!" The smile on her face contradicting her words.

Ron batted away the crumpled up ball of paper easily. "How do you know what McLaggen's type is anyway?" he asked.

"Please, do you remember when I had to partner with him for a year. Gods, that man droned on and on about his love life," Quinn rolled her eyes. She checked the time on her watch and let out a tiny sigh.

"As much as I would love to stay and continue the current course of this conversation, I do need to get going," Quinn said. She picked up her things and made her way towards the door.

"I'll keep an eye on McLaggen just in case," she said before she reached the door.

Ron nodded. "Whatever is going on with McLaggen seems—"

"Too suspicious to be a coincidence," she finished his thought. Quinn adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder to stop it from slipping. Her expression switched from pensive to amused. "Course, he is a prat so maybe it's just a sign that he's destined to cock up anything he touches."

"Could be," Ron said with no conviction.

Quinn nodded one last time and finished her walk to the door. "Don't forget, two Saturdays from now...and yes, you can bring a date if you so choose," she shouted back at him right as she walked out the door.

"I didn't ask," he called out but the door was already closed.

—

Thursday morning was unseasonably cold. Ron bunched up the front of his jacket to put off the chill as he walked briskly up the pavement. His mind wandered to the visit from his brother the day before to keep himself from dwelling on the cold.

He should have expected a visit from Percy after ditching that family gathering over a week ago. They had gone to lunch, which hadn't been half bad. Ron felt a little worse after he learned that Percy's announcement of Audrey's second pregnancy had been the real reason for him to request everyone's presence at the Burrow. Percy had admitted that their mum had put him up to coming over. Likely she wanted Percy to check on him as much as she wanted Percy to share his news. That had led to shared laughter and knowing looks about the concern their mum had once had for Percy during his own estrangement. No one really considered Ron estranged, but he knew they had felt a distance from him. Percy had made an effort to improve things between him and Ron ever since coming back to the family over a decade ago. At the time, Ron had accepted his brother's presence, but had not made any effort to build something stronger. He didn't appreciate the significance at the time. Then Fred had died. After that he had tried to build something better with Percy and it had worked. Ron had finally realised that they had more in common than being tall and lanky. _Different, but the same_ , he would muse to himself after one of their sporadic but fulfilling chats. Both of them had spent not a small amount of their youths constantly trying to prove something to their family—the world—themselves. Ron had unburdened himself with Percy in way that he felt he could never have done with his other siblings or his best mate. He had joked often back then that he didn't need a bloody therapist because he had Percy.

Sighing heavily, those moments were almost all gone now, but yesterday had felt good. It had felt like old times.

A particularly strong gust of wind hit his face, bringing Ron back to the present day and the task at hand. He had just about reached his destination, so he took a moment to check the surroundings and stopped dead in his tracks and checked the street signs again. The block where Bertrand Flower Shop should've been was a quiet street. Ron had been anxious to get to the shop that Hermione had told him delivered her a strange bouquet several weeks ago. He hoped her stalker had been careless and left some clue to their identity. Maybe they charged the purchase on credit or maybe the shop had a camera. Either way, he was optimistic a florist would remember such a peculiar order. Ron had been ready to work some charms to get his answers but he now figured that was no longer necessary. Whatever had been at the flower shop address was long since shuttered by the looks on the outside. _Shit_ , _this just got infinitely more complicated,_ Ron scoffed to himself.

He walked a bit closer and peered through the dusty windows but there was no sign of flowers, just the thick dust on the window clouding his ability to really see anything other than the outline of a few fixtures. He turned around to face the street and scanned the block until he saw a small bakery on the corner.

The first thing Ron saw when he walked in was the shop attendant behind the counter. A young woman, maybe 20, possible younger. She was listening to music on the wireless and lightly bobbing her head along to the song. The music was low but the heaviness of the beat almost made Ron want to nod his head in unison. She looked over at Ron, who was the only customer in the shop beside an older man sitting at a corner table. The shop attendant smiled at him cheerily and Ron couldn't help but smile back at the idea of someone so young being this enthusiastic at such an early hour.

"Good morning," the woman greeted in a singsong voice. "Welcome to the Confectioner's Scone."

Ron saw that the old man had a chess set out as he walked by. At first glance it looked like the game was in process but there was no other player. He wondered if the man was playing it against himself or waiting for someone.

"What can I help you with today, sir?" she asked as she set down a tray of delicious-looking pastries.

"Morning, I...er...I just have a quick question really," he said. "That vacant storefront across the street, was it recently a flower shop by any chance?"

"Not that I can remember, but I haven't been here that long," she said, shaking her head.

"Mr. Flamel!" She shouted toward the seated older man.

"He's actually the owner, probably been here longer than time itself," she said more quietly, just so Ron could hear. At that moment the old man looked up at them and smiled.

"Mr. Flamel, the closed down shop cross the way there," she said pointing in the general direction. "Do you remember what it used to be?"

"Nothing but a public nuisance," the old man answered and looked back down at his chess game.

Ron walked over to him and motioned towards the empty chair. "May I?" he asked.

Mr. Flamel peered up from over the rims of his glasses. "Suit yourself," he said before looking back down again.

"Has there been anything in that shop recently?" Ron asked.

"Depends on your definition of recent. I've been here for a while."

"How about the last year?"

"No, it's been vacant for a few years."

"Do you remember what it was before then?"

"Yeah, some travel agency. Told 'em it was not going to work. Not the way these young people do everything through the internet these days," the old man said gruffly. "Never did have much business and it shut down a little over two years ago."

 _Travel agency? Maybe the flower shop name was made up,_ Ron pondered. "Can you

remember what it was before travel agency?"

"Not at the moment," Mr. Flamel replied quickly.

"Oh," Ron said in response, slightly disappointed by the answer. He glanced at the chessboard for the first time after sitting down and saw that whatever game had been in process was over. The black king was tipped.

"Gave up too easy," Ron muttered to himself after studying the board.

"What's that?" Mr. Flamel asked. "Speak up, I couldn't hear you."

"I was just saying that the other player...I think they gave up too easy," Ron replied.

"Hmm, really?" the old man seemed to ponder aloud to himself. He had brought his hands together in front of him and the pads of his fingers now pressed together, forming a triangle from Ron's viewpoint. The man's eyes were narrowed in focus on Ron. He stayed this way for what Ron thought was an exceedingly long moment.

 _Clap_ , the sound echoed from the old man's hands before he proceeded to rub them together and leaned back in his chair.

"Old Roger stormed out of here not more than ten minutes before you showed up. I told him he didn't have to resign, but he seemed to think his position indefensible," Mr. Flamel finally said. "So you play then?"

"I dabble," Ron replied. His friends and family might call that false modesty on his part but he knew better than to give away anything to an untested opponent.

"Do you want to have a go?" Mr. Flamel motioned to the set.

"Depends," Ron replied. "Are you any good?"

The old man cleared his throat, "I've been known to win."

"Clearly," Ron replied wryly.

"Don't believe Mr. Flamel. He's being modest," the shop attendant called as she wandered over to their table and set down a cup of tea in front of Ron. An amused grin on her face. "It's on the house," she said before he could object.

"In that case...yes, let's play," Ron looked the man straight in his eyes as he answered. He had other business to attend to but the chance for a good chess game was irresistible to him.

"Take it easy on him, Mr. Flamel," the shop attendant squeezed the old man's shoulder affectionately before walking away. Ron looked at the other man as he heard him grumble something about having no mercy.

Ron smiled and studied the position that had been left on the board.

"Let's reset then," the old man said as he started to move to set up for a new game.

"Hold on," Ron called out suddenly. He took one more sweeping look at the board. "Well, it certainly isn't a position anyone could have defended—"

"No, it wasn't," Mr. Flamel agreed.

"But, I don't plan to be on the defensive for long," Ron added removing his jacket. He looked at Mr. Flamel and saw comprehension dawn on the man's face. The old man gave an amused smile and tipped his head toward Ron.

"I believe it was tipped during my turn, so you may proceed," Mr. Flamel said.

Ron lost himself in the sport of the game. After some time, and several free pastries and onlookers later, Ron sat back with a self-satisfied smile as the old man's head zigzagged between his own king and Ron's checkmating queen.

"Good game...good game, my boy," Mr. Flamel repeated at first surprised and then appreciatively. Ron thanked the man for the game and finished his last pastry, while he listened to the old man wax on about the history of the neighborhood. When it was time to leave, he promised to come again before gathering his stuff to leave.

"A flower shop," Ron looked down as the old man spoke, still seated at his table.

"What was that?" Ron inquired as his face perked up and he sat back down.

"Before it was a travel agency, it was a flower shop. I can't believe I nearly forgot. I guess all the talk about the neighborhood jogged the old memory," the old man's face was screwed up as he recalled the details. Ron suspected that the man had always remembered, but just didn't trust him yet. "The flower shop was there since before my place, but it closed down nearly ten years ago."

"Do you remember the name of the place?" Ron asked

"Yes, Ber...er...Bertrand flowers," the other man snapped his fingers when he finally got it.

"Are the flower shop owners still around?"

"I think the woman who ran the shop died a few years ago, but her daughter still comes around...," Mr. Flamel looked at him for a long moment, appraising him before he spoke next. "I can let her know you're looking for her if you like."

"Thank you, Mr. Flamel," Ron said pulling a card from his pocket and handed it to him.

"It was a pleasure, Mr…Wazlib," he said after looking at the card. "I should warn you, I'll be ready for our next game."

"I look forward to it," Ron said with a laugh before he left.

The chilly air hit Ron in the face as soon as he walked out of the shop door. This time the fullness from the pastries and a hot cup of tea helped him to stave off the cold. Shaking out his jacket, he looked back over at the nonexistent flower shop and hoped to himself that this dead end would come back to life soon.

 **A/N: The next chapter will be full of Ron and Hermione interaction, so take heart if you missed that this chapter.**


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